Separation Anxiety
by Lula Bo
Summary: Set just after the S4 finale. Rory leaves with Emily for Italy to figure herself out while Lorelai struggles with her new relationship with Luke back in Stars Hollow.
1. Saturday

Author's note: This is where my brain has taken me in the moments after "Raincoats and Recipes" faded to black.  
Disclaimer: The Lorelais aren't mine, nor are their boys, toys, or their various extended family.

Separation Anxiety  
By Lula Bo

Saturday Night

The forty-five seconds Lorelai paused on the porch stairs were the longest of her life. She saw Rory's shaking shoulders, heard her hiccupping breaths. She ached for her baby girl: she felt a constriction about her heart, pain knotted behind her rib cage.

Lorelai took a ragged breath and stepped off the porch.

"Rory," she said, kneeling beside her daughter.

Rory shrank away from her mother's reach. "Please don't touch me."

"Oh, honey," Lorelai said. She put her arms about Rory and laid her cheek against Rory's hair.

"Mom, no," she said, trying to pull away. Lorelai shushed her and drew her closer. "Mom," Rory said again, her voice choked with tears. "What just happened?" she asked. "I can't breathe," she said between sobs. "It hurts too much to breathe." She turned her face towards her mother's shoulder. "Mom."

"I know, babe," Lorelai said. "Let's get you inside."

"I don't want to stay in that house tonight," Rory said, wiping the backs of her hands over her cheeks. "I can't go back in there!" Her voice had taken a hysterical pitch Lorelai had never heard before.

She took Rory's face in her hands. "Honey, it's just a building. We've lived here for eight years. It's not any different than it was an hour ago."

Rory's lips quivered and she looked down, tears welling over. "Everything's different."

Lorelai sighed and pulled them both to their feet together, drawing Rory to her as she stood. "I know," she said. "Come on inside."

She led Rory in the house and up the stairs to her own bedroom. She then helped her out of the rumpled dress. Rory held her arms over her head and Lorelai bit her lip, remembering her six-year-old baby and dressing her for bed. She slid an oversized tee over Rory's head and settled her under the comforter. Lorelai sat beside her and smoothed the hair off Rory's forehead.

"Tell me what you need," she said.

Rory hugged the pillow, burying her face in the coolness of the cotton. "I don't know right now."

"I'm here, okay?"

"I know."

They sat in silence a long moment, Lorelai stroking Rory's hair and smoothing the covers. Rory raised herself up on her elbow a moment. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks flushed with heat. "Mom, the inn."

"Shit," Lorelai gasped. "Rory, hon—"

"You should go," Rory said. "I'll stay here."

"I don't want to leave you alone. Can I call Lane?"

"I'm fine." She looked at her mother. "No, not fine, I know. But I'll be okay by myself."

Lorelai's eyes filled. She kissed Rory's forehead and drew her into a fierce hug. "Thirty seconds."

"What?"

"That's all I need to get back here. You wake up, you want me, I'm here in thirty seconds."

Rory held her mother tightly. "Thank you," she said.

Once more, Lorelai held Rory's face in her hands. "You never have to thank me for anything, babe. I am your mother."

"I love you," Rory said, her voice faltering. "I do."

Lorelai nodded. "And I would bleed for you."

Rory's voice stopped her at the bedroom door. "Mommy?"

"Sweets?"

"What's going to happen now?"

Lorelai swallowed over the rock lodged in her throat. "I'm afraid I'm not the one who can tell you that, babe."

Rory nodded. "Thirty seconds, right?"

Lorelai tried to smile. "Thirty seconds exactly."

She hardly paid attention to where her feet took her as she left the house. She could remember nothing about the day that had just passed. All she could think of was her daughter, alone, and hurting. Her daughter, alone, hurting emotionally, maybe physically. She heard Rory again saying "everything's different." She shook her head. It shouldn't have happened this way.

She was back at the inn too quickly. There was a throng of people milling about the lawn. She heard Miss Patty and Babette clearly above the din. She caught the phrases "naked as a jaybird" and "like a little girl" and couldn't help smiling. Stupid Kirk, she thought. What would have happened had he not come barreling down those stairs? Would Dean have stayed? Would he have gone home to Lindsay? What would he have told Rory had Lorelai not come home at the moment she did? Would Rory have told her? She shivered at the possibility of Rory not telling her. But for Kirk, she would not have gone home—she would still be with Luke. Would she still be with Luke?

Luke. The thought stopped her a moment and she absently raised her hand to her lips. If she could shut the image of Rory and her pain out for a second, for a breath, she could still feel Luke's hands at her waist, still see him pulling her towards him the last time. She closed her eyes and saved the memory of the way he smelled and tasted and felt, the crackle and charge of the air when he drew her to him. But the breath was gone and the broken look in Rory's eyes filled her mind. She continued up the walk.

Lorelai stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs. Sookie stood beside Jackson, her hair in pigtails, surveying the scene with dismay. "Lorelai!" she cried. "Where have you been?"

"I, ah, I went home to get the camera," Lorelai said.

"Everything's a mess. Luke finally caught Kirk when he tried to scale the gazebo in the square but with all the commotion and the sirens—"

"Sirens?"

"I think Taylor called an ambulance," Sookie said. "Last I heard they were giving Kirk oxygen down by the market and they were going to sedate him before they took him home. And now everyone's up and it's crazy."

"Poor Lulu," Lorelai said. "Christ, what a mess."

Sookie looked at her. "Where's the camera?"

"I—I couldn't find it. Lost cause." She sighed and looked around. Deal with this, she thought. She went up and stood on the top stair. "Everyone? Excuse me? Jackson, a little help please?" Jackson put his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Lorelai gave her best crisis-saving-smile. "Everyone, I really am sorry for the disturbance. If you'll all come inside, sit in the dining room, we'll have hot chocolate ready for you in just a few moments," she said.

"And cookies!" Sookie cried. "I've got cookies!"

"Hot chocolate and cookies all around, then," Lorelai said. "We've got books as well, if you'd rather go back to your rooms and have some quiet. Please, come back inside. We have a fabulous morning planned for you tomorrow," she said. As the guests filed past her and into the inn, she mumbled her apologies to each and gave pained smiles to those clucking in sympathy. As Sookie and Jackson passed her, she saw Luke rounding the corner towards the main building. He had his head down and his hands in his pockets.

"Hi," she said, remaining on the stair.

He looked up. "Hey," he said.

"Kirk all settled?"

Luke nodded. "Lulu's with him, at her place. He's under some heavy drugs."

"I hear you caught him on the gazebo. Naked?"

He swallowed thickly. "Let us never speak of it again."

Luke opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn't sure. He stopped short when he saw Lorelai's face wilt, crumple under a sudden flood of silent tears. "Lorelai?"

She stumbled down the stairs towards him, burying her face in his chest, gripping the front of his sweater tightly in her fists. He put his arms around her, cradling her head with one hand. He shushed her gently as she cried in great, shuddering bursts.

"What's this about?" he asked, at length.

She pulled back to look at him, still clutching his sweater. "Something bad happened tonight," she said.

"What, Rory? Is she okay?"

The panic in his face loosened her grip slightly. "Oh, she's—she's not hurt. I can't explain," she said. "If I could tell you—I just, I can't."

"Jess?"

She bit her lip, shaking her head. "Not Jess, this time. God, Luke, I'm—I'm sorry. You've been running after naked Kirk and now this—this is a mess, I'm a mess—"

"You're not a mess," he said, raising one hand to her face, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheek. "And no apologizing. I'm here, tell me what you need."

Lorelai leaned against him, settling her hands in the crooks of his elbows. "Can we just hang out here for a while longer?"

"I think we can do that."

"Thank you," she said.

"That's why I'm here."

They stood there in the silence, Luke holding Lorelai, asking no questions. Lorelai shut her eyes and listened to the sounds of his breathing, settling into the hollow of his shoulder. She felt guilty no one could offer the same comfort to Rory.

She heard Jason before she saw him. He called her name as he came up the walk, and Lorelai lifted her head, looking at Luke in horror. "Shit," she murmured. "Holy, holy shit."

"You want me to go get rid of him?" Luke asked.

"You're not going anywhere," she said. "And I'm staying right here."

"Lorelai," Jason said again. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"What do you want, Jason?"

"There was this whole thing before, you were gone, I couldn't find you, I was worried," he said. He looked at Lorelai, still leaning against Luke. "What's going on?"

"Jason, why are you still here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. I repeat: what's going on?"

"I asked you to leave," Lorelai said. "This has been—a rough night. You're not making it easier. Go home."

Jason shifted on his feet. "Lorelai, I need to talk to you."

"Jason, please, just go." Lorelai could feel Luke tense up, tighten his arms about her.

"What, are you with this guy now? The diner guy?"

It was Lorelai's turn to tighten her grasp, holding firmly to the backs of Luke's arms. His breathing was coming hard now—she imagined she would hear him growl. "Jason, nothing about my life is any of your business anymore. It's done. Go home."

"Answer me this, Lorelai," he said, stepping forward.

Luke pulled back, ready to stand between them, but Lorelai kept her hands firmly where they were. "What, Jason?" she asked, her voice weary.

"Would you have ended it if I hadn't sued your father? What if I took it all back?"

"Oh, Jason," she said, exhaling. "It's over. It's at an end. That's all. You need to go."

"And you're going to be with this guy now?"

"Okay, _seriously?_" she said. "Go."

Luke cleared his throat. "I will remove you," he said, "if you don't remove yourself."

"You're making a mistake, Lorelai," Jason said. He turned and began to walk away. "You're making a big mistake."

"That's it," Luke said, dropping his arms.

She reached for his hand. "Luke, please stay." He looked at her. "Please?"

Luke brought her to sit on the porch stairs. He put his arm around her and rested his cheek against the bright top of her head. "This is going to sound like a really inappropriate question," he said.

"Goody."

"Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

He felt her stiffen slightly. She looked up at him. "Oh, Luke," she began.

Immediately, he went into defense mode, pulling back his arm, shrugging and shaking his head. "No big deal, I was just, you know—"

"I want to—"

"—checking, just checking—"

"Luke," she said, putting her hand to his face. "Shut up."

"Shutting up."

She smiled and was silent.

"Well?"

"I'm just enjoying the moment of you shutting up when asked," she said, grinning. She dropped her hands to her lap and stared at her rings a moment. "I would love to go to the movies with you tomorrow, I would. I just don't know if I can."

"Rory."

"Rory," she said. "Can I call you? Tomorrow?"

Luke nodded. "We should go back inside."

Lorelai reached for his hand and pulled his arm about her again. "Just another minute," she said. "I'm too tired for the circus clowns. If they're going to talk, let them talk," she said. "I just wish I knew what would happen next."

"It'll all turn out all right," Luke said.

"Will it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know what happened."

Lorelai looked at him, her eyes bright. She tilted her face to his and regarded him a long moment. "Me neither," she said. "Me neither."

TBC


	2. Sunday Afternoon

Sunday Afternoon

The breakfast at the Dragonfly went as well as the dinner the night before. When the guests filed past Lorelai on their various ways home, they smiled or touched her cheek and cooed or, in Taylor's case, gave final warnings about dull faucet hardware. Luke was the last to leave; he squeezed her elbow and gave her a significant look.

"I'm okay," she told him. "I'll call you soon."

She sat with Sookie and Michel in the kitchen to go over the comment cards, but she was unable to concentrate. After a half hour, she rose. "I'm sorry, guys, I've got to get home. Rory thought she was coming down with something last night—"

"It couldn't have been the food," Sookie said.

"No, no," Michel said, "not the food! Not possibly all that fatty animal carcass she devoured."

"It wasn't the food," Lorelai said. "Just a touch of allergies, I think, but I'd like to get home to her. Can we do this tomorrow?"

"Sure, honey, just call me and let me know if you need anything," Sookie said.

"Do not call me," Michel said.

"Oh, now you've ruined my whole day!" Lorelai said. She gave Sookie a hug. "This was amazing. We are going to be amazing."

She was out of breath when she got back to the house. She made straight for the coffee pot and kicked off her shoes in the kitchen before running up the stairs. Rory was still in bed, curled under the covers with a battered copy of _The Last of the Really Great Wangdoodles._ She looked up when her mother entered.

"Hey babe," Lorelai said. "Wangdoodles again, huh? God, do I remember that book."

Rory sat up. "I love this book. How did it go?"

"Let's just say that I am now even more impatient for the inn to be open to paying customers," Lorelai sighed. She sat on the edge of the bed and pushed a lock of hair out of Rory's eyes. "How're you feeling?"

Rory shrugged. "I don't know. Tired. Nauseous."

"Did you sleep at all? Can I get you anything?"

"I slept a little. Off and on. You're making coffee?"

"You want?"

"And a Pop-Tart?"

"You got it, sweets. You want to come downstairs, watch a movie?"

"Will there be big pillows?"

"Yes."

"Fluffy blankets?"

"Most certainly."

"Nothing on the television but _Absolutely Fabulous?_"

Lorelai couldn't help snorting in laughter. "You want to watch _Ab Fab?"_

"Drugged out fantasies and bad fashion choices are what I desire," Rory said simply.

"I'll run to the video store, see what I can find. Go downstairs and get settled, okay?" She stopped at the door. "Hon?"

"Mom?"

"How's your heart?"

Rory averted her eyes and drew her knees to her chest. "Still here. Not quite intact, but here." She took a breath. "I haven't been thinking, which is weird."

"And maybe good," Lorelai said. "Give everything time to settle. _I_ am _great_ at not thinking, so you are in luck. I am yours all day, all night—you'll have to _beg_ me to go away. After I get back from town, of course, with provisions that will rot our teeth and dissolve the lining of our stomachs."

"But don't you have a date with Luke tonight?"

Lorelai's chest tightened at the mention of his name. "Oh, babe, nothing's settled. It was all very casual, off the cuff."

"Luke is never off the cuff, Mom. And besides, you made it sound like the invitation was this whole big thing when we were talking about it the other day," Rory said. "You know, before."

"I'm not leaving you alone for another night again," Lorelai said. "They'll kick me out."

"Who?"

"The other mothers," Lorelai said. "You know, the mothers in the international maternal association that has established the laws by which all mothers are governed. They're very strict."

Rory rolled her eyes. "You're spending the day with me. And besides—don't take this the wrong way—but I think it's better if I'm alone for a while." She watched her mother open and close her mouth a few times, trying to form the appropriate response and failing. "It's just, if you're here? I'll be watching you watching me, and I'll be thinking about what you must be thinking about."

"What do you think I must be thinking about?"

"Me and—Dean and I, what we did, how disappointed you must be," Rory said, her voice faltering.

Lorelai kneeled on the bed and put her arms around her daughter. "Oh, honey. Never. What you did, you and Dean? It was wrong; I'm not saying it wasn't. You cheated, and you can't change that. But Rory, you made a mistake, babe, and there's nothing wrong with that. I've made plenty of them myself—I am the queen of ill-advised actions, you know that. I'm not saying that I'm singing from the rooftops or that I think you should consider it among your greatest achievements, but I am not judging you. Do I wish things had gone differently? Of course I do. But Rory, sweetie, you are my kid and regardless of how you screw up, how badly or what you do, I will never look at you with anything less than absolute acceptance and respect. And that is because I think you are an exceptional person. Even exceptional people make mistakes—look at George Clooney."

"George Clooney?"

"Very nice looking man—exceptional, even, one might say—but let's see: _Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, Batman and Robin, Solaris, Intolerable Cruelty_—need I go on?"

"I beg you, please don't."

Lorelai sighed. "Rory, you made a mistake."

"A big one."

"I don't disagree; it was really big one. It's going to take a while for you to process that, and you've got to go through whatever you have to go through to get through it, get over, put it behind you. But know, while you do that, that I will be here, that I love you unconditionally, and that I will not, under any circumstances, read _Wangdoodles_ with you even one more time," Lorelai said. "Other than that, you and I, we're good. We're always good."

Rory leaned forward and kissed Lorelai on the cheek. "You know, I think I kinda love you," she said.

"Right back at you, babe."

She looped her arms around Lorelai's neck and rested her forehead against her mother's. "I want you to go out with Luke tonight. If you stay here, I'm just going to feel guilty that you're not out, and—"

"—and you don't need more to feel guilty about than you already do," Lorelai said.

"Right."

Lorelai sighed. "Well, as I've always said: anything for you, Rory."

Rory nodded. "Good. Well, what are you waiting for? Go! Food!"

"You know, you're very demanding for someone reading a novel written by Mary Poppins."

"Julie Andrews _Edwards_ happens to be a fine writer of juvenile fiction," Rory said.

"You keep telling yourself that, Rory. I'll be back."

Lorelai took her time walking to town. There were too many things to think about: Rory, dealing with this; her parents, arguing; Luke. She sighed. She hated that she was sure she could get Rory through this, as though there had existed in her mind the possibility of a similar circumstance occurring for which she had subconsciously prepared. And her parents—she had no idea what would happen and she clearly wasn't going to be any help to them. She could just put her fingers in hear ears, hum, and wait until it was all over; still, she couldn't help wishing her plan had been a little more successful. She hadn't enjoyed their screaming, both at her and each other. And they were her parents, as she had never been able to discover any legal evidence to the contrary, and their separation was depressing. She couldn't even begin to think about Luke—that was somehow bigger than she was capable of comprehending. When she did, she again experienced that familiar, somehow pleasant pain in her chest, as though she had forgotten how to breathe.

She went to the diner first.

She put her purse on the counter and slammed her hands down. "Set me up, Burger Boy. I need the works: burgers, fries, chicken fingers, and lots and lots of pie."

Luke looked at her from beneath lowered brows and attempted to smother a smile. "You planning on killing a small country by feeding them with artery clogging trash?"

"You're the pusher, man: I am just a victim of the game," Lorelai said. "It's for Rory. I'm feeding the pain. That's how it works, right? I know it's feed a fever, starve a cold—or is it starve a fever, feed a cold? I can never remember," she said, tilting her chin towards him and looking at him with a questioning smile. "Anyway. Feed the pain and walk off the weight when it's satiated."

"What pain are you currently attempting to satiate?"

Lorelai crooked her finger at him, indicating that he lean closer. "Generalized heartache and perhaps a fractured soul," she told him, her voice low.

Luke shook his head. "Ah, crap. I'm sorry, Lorelai. You want lots and lots of pie, you got lots and lots of pie."

"You're an angel," she said. "I'll come back—I've got other anesthetics to get, too."

He called her name and stopped her at the door. "You got a lot of stuff to get?"

"Indeed."

"I'll meet you out front in fifteen minutes, give you a ride back."

"Luke, you don't have to do that," Lorelai said. "Really."

"I know," he said.

Lorelai grinned. "You, sir, are the best."

"Know that, too."

He was annoyingly prompt. She was stumbling out of Doose's with her arms full of bags and three DVD cases clenched between her chin and her chest, and there was the truck, idling by the sidewalk. Luke was out of the cab and removing the DVDs before she knew it.

"You're going to be eating this crap for weeks," he said. "And what the hell is _Absolutely Fabulous?"_

"You clearly haven't been paying attention all these years; this food will last only days in the Gilmore house. And the movies? Isn't it obvious, sweetie darling? It is what it says it is."

"_Absolutely Fabulous?"_

"Indubitably."

"Sweetie darling?"

"Watch the DVD. It will all become clear," she said. They deposited everything in the bed of the truck and Lorelai slid in, easing the door shut behind her. "Thanks for this," she said. "Really. Yet again above and beyond the call."

He shrugged. "No big deal." He threw the truck in gear and pulled out. "And I have been."

"Have been what?"

"Paying attention all these years."

Lorelai blushed and was silent. After a moment, they broke the silence simultaneously.

"So, this evening," she said.

"About tonight," he said.

"Oh, sorry," Lorelai said, "you go."

"No, no, it's fine. What were you going to say?" Luke asked.

"Ah, I was, um, you know, eh—" she stopped, sighed, and covered her eyes with her hands.

"Lorelai?"

She dropped her hands and jerked her head up. The pain was now complicated by a slight flutter; the thought crossed her mind that she might be having repeated mild heart attacks. If she was, it was really not that bad. "Did you still want to go out tonight?"

"Did you?"

"I asked you first."

"Technically," Luke said, "I asked _you_ first."

"Crap. You did. I hate losing."

"Noted."

From the corner of his eye, Luke watched Lorelai tuck her hair behind ears. She couldn't keep her hands still. She turned to him, about to speak, and saw the look on his face.

"Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Nicely put." She took a breath. "So, ask me again."

"I already asked you once."

"Do it again," Lorelai said. "Please," she added, as an afterthought.

"Do you want to go to the movies with me tonight?" he asked. He stopped the truck just in front of her house and turned to face her.

Lorelai put her hand to her chest and affected surprise, gasping and batting her lashes. "Why Luke, this is so sudden!"

"Lorelai."

"I just don't know what to say!"

"Lorelai."

"I mean, _you_ asking me to the moves, it's just—"

"_Lorelai._"

She giggled and nodded. "I would love to."

Luke nodded and smoothed the front of his shirt with his hands. "Good. I'll be here at six. You want to grab dinner before?"

"I would love to, also." She slid out of the truck. "Thank you, again, for the ride. You probably shouldn't come in just now. Is that okay?"

He nodded and helped her gather up her things. "You sure you can get this inside all by yourself?"

"I would nod," she said, "but I'm afraid I would dislodge the ice cream and then the whole candy pyramid would collapse, and that's just a tragedy waiting to happen."

"I'll see you at six."

"Six o'clock it is."

She wanted to watch him go, but the food situation was growing ever more precarious, and Rory was waiting for her.

Next: Sunday Evening


	3. Early Sunday Evening

Sunday Evening

Lorelai and Rory spent the rest of the afternoon sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch, making a sizeable dent in the food Lorelai brought from town. They watched old episodes of _Absolutely Fabulous_ and MST3K-ed their way through every one, as they had done with everything they'd ever seen, from _Billy Jack_ to _The Donna Reed Show;_ this time, they spoke in purposely appalling British accents. Lorelai wanted to see more Bubble and Rory wanted to see Patsy dance.

At quarter to five, Lorelai pulled herself off the couch to change the DVD. Rory watched her mother navigate around the coffee table and mounds of food, smiling in amusement. "Hey, Mom? Don't you have a date in, like, an hour?" she asked.

Lorelai looked at her daughter, her eyes wide in affected innocence. "Who, me?"

"Yes, Lucy, you," Rory said. "You are not planning on canceling at the last minute. You can't do that. Why would you do that?"

Lorelai took a handful of jelly beans from a bowl on the table and began sorting them by color and size. "Because I don't want to leave you alone," she said.

"No way are you using me as an excuse for standing Luke up just because you're scared."

Lorelai's jaw dropped. "I am not scared."

"You're Jamie Lee Curtis. You're that girl in the beginning of _The Ring_! You're—"

"You can stop now." She put the jelly beans back in the bowl and crossed her arms over her chest. "He kissed me, you know."

"No!"

"And then I kissed him and there was this whole kissing thing before Kirk decided to Will Ferrell his way down the stairs," Lorelai said. "And then I went back to the inn and spent the next forty-five minutes crying on his shoulder." Off Rory's look, she said, "I didn't tell him why, and he's so good he didn't ask. Since then he's just been checking up on me. He hasn't brought up the whole kissing saga, either."

"What was it like?" Rory asked.

Lorelai crossed back to the couch and burrowed back under the covers beside Rory, pulling them over her head. "It was," she said, muffled, "amazing."

"Oh, Mom."

"And because it was amazing, it was also incredibly weird." She emerged from the covers, her expression thoughtful. "Actually, what was incredibly weird was how not incredibly weird it felt to be kissing him. The kissing part was just… I don't know, really comfortable and natural and good, and that's what was so bizarre about the whole thing. Shouldn't it have been weird?"

Rory shrugged. "Not necessarily. If it felt normal to be kissing Luke, maybe that just means you're supposed to be kissing Luke."

Lorelai mimed frantically searching the room, leaning over the back of the couch, peering towards the kitchen, searching under the covers, pushing Rory from side to side.

"What are you doing, freakshow?" Rory asked.

"I'm looking for my daughter, the naysayer," Lorelai said.

"Very funny," Rory said. "The whole idea is a little strange for me, because he's _Luke_, but seeing as you're all atwitter like someone in a Rogers and Hammerstein show, I think this whole dating Luke thing might not be so bad. Haven't seen you like this since Max."

"Thank you for bringing _that_ up, Tacitus."

"Tacitus?"

"Roman historian, Yalie."

"I know who Tacitus is, it just seems like a really extreme reference," Rory said.

Lorelai sighed. "You're really okay with this?"

"I'm really okay with this," Rory said, and put her arms around her mother. "Thank you for wallowing with me for a while—I haven't had thoughts about how terrible I feel about what I did running on loop since you got back. I think I can make do without you for a few hours."

"Help me get ready?"

"Absolutely."

That had her showered and coifed and made up by quarter to six, at which time they were both standing in front of her closet, their hands on their hips.

"This is problematic," Rory said. "Dinner, but we don't know where."

"Movie, but we don't know what else," Lorelai said. "Black pants or dark jeans?"

"Dark jeans. And I think you should wear the blue sweater."

"The blue sweater?"

"The one that ties around like a ballet sweater—it makes your eyes pop."

"Sweetie, when my eyes pop, they look like this," Lorelai said, and bugged her eyes out. She sighed. "You think?"

"I think. Put the white lace cami underneath and you're good to go. And wear the strappy blue sandals."

Lorelai kissed her daughter's cheek. "You're so much better than all those cheerleaders on the Style channel, and Clinton and Stacey have nothing on you," she said.

"You watch too much TV," Rory said, turning for the door.

Her mother gasped. "No such thing!"

Luke was polite enough to offer an extra ten minutes before he pulled up the drive and knocked on the front door. Lorelai was upstairs, struggling to get into the strappy blue sandals, so Rory answered the door. Luke had seen both Lorelais in various kinds of attire over the years, but he was unprepared to see Rory in her pajamas, her hair back in a messy, falling-down ponytail, her face bare of make up. She seemed indescribably tired and young and too pale. Luke thought the generalized heartache and fractured soul were written clearly on her face. But she smiled at him and ushered him into the house, saying, "Herself will be down in a sec."

"So, Rory," Luke said, jamming his hands in his pockets, his chin to his chest, "how are you?"

She settled herself on the couch and looked at him. For a moment, the entire situation seemed utterly ridiculous. Here was this man, this good, caring man who she'd known for years and years, checking up on her sad and somehow broken self, unable to look her in the eye. Additionally, he was here to pick her mother up on a date: her mother, who was primping upstairs like a sixteen year old waiting for her prom date, both pleased with herself and ready to puke from nervousness at the same time. And here was Rory, former virgin and all-around good girl, watching the whole thing. She contemplated for a moment how Luke would respond if she told him how she really was and why, and it seemed strangely funny.

Luke noted the whisper of a smile on her face just before she spoke. "I guess I'm okay," she said.

"Good."

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

The silence was just getting awkward when Lorelai thundered down the stairs, shouting, "these shoes had better be worth the pain, Rory, or I hold you personally responsible." She stopped short on the landing. "Oh, Luke," she said, blushing to her hair. "I didn't realize you were here," she continued, narrowing her eyes at Rory.

"Sorry," he said. "Go change your shoes."

"But they're part of the ensemble. If I change the shoes, I've got to change the whole outfit, and really, all of my other shoes are equally insensible and it would be quite pointless and you'd just have to continue standing here waiting—"

"So you're ready," he said, interrupting her.

"Ready." She looked at him. He was wearing a black collared sweater that fell so nicely on his shoulders and his chest, dark slacks, and it seemed as though he'd shaved this morning, as his stubble was less than usual. The fluttering aspect of the mild heart attacks intensified and lowered to tickle her ribcage. She had to remember how to swallow, now, too. This was increasingly complicated.

"You look nice," she said.

For Luke, suddenly the carpet was fascinating. Rory grinned from her place on the couch. "Thanks," he said. "You ah, you look good. You look good, too." Silence hung on the air for another moment before he looked up. "So we should go."

"We should," Lorelai agreed, and descending the remainder of the stairs. She kissed Rory and told her to call the cell if she needed her.

"I won't," Rory whispered. As Luke and her mother left the house, she called, "have fun!"

Sunday Evening will continue...


	4. Later Sunday Night

Sunday Night

The tightness in Lorelai's chest worsened in the car, where the silence was closer to awkward than companionable. She parted her lips to speak more than once, but the only thing that occurred to her was how totally blank her mind had become and that breathing was taking far too much concentration. She was less concerned with the latter than the former.

She soon found that her mouth needed no help from her brain. "You smell really good," she said. She turned to him, startled at the sound of her own voice.

Luke didn't take his eyes from the road. "I used some new kind of soap Liz gave me. It's homemade, or something. Natural," he said.

"That's… interesting," Lorelai said. "Soap." She began to giggle.

"What?"

She tried to compose herself and failed. "I am so fucking nervous," she said, leaning forward as she laughed.

Luke watched her, taking in the sweater and the lace peeking out from underneath. Her hair was in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck and as she laughed, a single lock loosed itself and brushed her cheek. He swallowed and sighed, nervously tapping his fingers on the gearshift where he rested his hand.

"Thank God," he said.

She looked at him, biting back another fit of giggles. "You too?"

"A little," he said. After a short pause, he told her, "a lot."

Lorelai tucked the lock of hair behind her ear and shook her head, a puzzled smile on her face. "Don't you think that's weird?" She put her hand to her chest, fingering the lace edging of her camisole. "And then I try to think about acting normally, and I just feel weirder."

Luke laughed at this. "That, Lorelai, is because you never act normal."

"Mean," she said. But the tightness in her throat lessened a little, and she settled back in her seat. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Trumbull Kitchen."

"In Hartford?"

"What, you think I'm going to take you to the diner and then we'll go to the movie at the library?"

"No," she said, giving him a petulant look. "But that would have been—"

"A sucky way to treat someone on a first date," Luke said.

Lorelai smiled. "You put some thought into this," she said.

"I did."

Lorelai began to giggle again. Off his look, she said, "We're on a _date,_" she whispered.

"Seriously, Lorelai, if this is so weird for you—"

She reached out and covered his right hand, gripping the gearshift, with her own. "It's not," she said. "It's nice. I'm just—"

"Four years old?"

"You know me so well," she said.

He looked at her sidelong. "That I do," he said. "That I do."

After that, it was easier. They sat in a booth at the restaurant and split appetizers—chicken wings, spinach and artichoke fondue (despite Lorelai's protest that green things had no place in her world), Portobello mushroom quesadillas—and a pizza. Lorelai laughed at Luke for ordering both the dinner and drinks—martinis, as they were a house specialty—without letting her help, but approved of his choices.

"Everything here is so good," she said, dipping her finger into the fondue. "This food is amazing."

"I'm glad you like it."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes at him. "Have you been here before?"

He shrugged in response.

"With a girl?"

"Lorelai," he began, and she laughed.

"Interesting," she said. "Very interesting."

They talked about things Stars Hollow. Lorelai told Luke about the sheer number of comment cards Taylor provided during the test run (nineteen, all filled with tiny writing); they speculated as to what he'd decided to write. Lorelai complimented Luke on his surprising tendency towards dirty remarks. They mocked the upcoming Tulip Festival and the Tastes of Stars Hollow Festival to follow—one which elicited a "dirty!" from Lorelai every year. They talked about the Dragonfly's opening. The wistful look Luke had always seen on Lorelai's face when discussing the possibility of owning an inn herself was replaced with one of delighted anticipation.

"You know, you glow when you talk about that inn the same way you do when you talk about how well Rory does in school," he said. When she averted her eyes in embarrassment, he went on, "You should be really proud of yourself, Lorelai. Look at what you've done."

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. "I had a lot of help," she told him. "And I am proud that I have made it through this entire meal and still have room for some of that fabulous-looking chocolate cake I saw the waiter carrying to the table behind us."

Luke chuckled. "When isn't there room for dessert with you?"

"Don't worry, I'll share," she said.

They were chatting lightly about the restaurant's décor as they walked back to Luke's truck. He walked beside her, guiding her with his hand pressed lightly to the small of her back. Lorelai kept losing her train of thought, distracted by the overwhelming awareness she had of his hand propelling her forward, his fingertips just slightly pushing at the fabric of her sweater. She remembered what she had told Rory just hours before, that the weirdness of the situation came from the lack of weirdness. It wasn't like before in the car, when the ceremonial aspect of their first date seemed so ridiculous: this was so natural it was unnerving.

"So," she said, "where to next?"

"My alma mater," he said.

"Your what?"

"My old school."

"I know what alma mater means, Mr. Webster, I just wasn't aware you had one," she said.

"I went to college," he said, a note of defensiveness in his voice.

Lorelai sputtered a moment, backpedaling, before she said, "Sookie just told me once that you never left Stars Hollow for college, so I just assumed—but you know what they say about people who assume."

Luke thought about this for a moment. "It probably seemed like that. My dad wasn't doing too good back then, and that was when Liz started getting into all kinds of shit. I was home a lot."

"You are an amazing person, Luke Danes."

Luke stalled pulling out from a stop light when she said this. "Not really," he said.

"Most people would have taken the opportunity to escape when things like that were happening at home, you know."

"I couldn't do that," Luke said. "They were—are—my family."

"And that," Lorelai told him, "is why you are an amazing person."

He parked the truck behind the chapel in the visitor's lot. As she stepped out of the cab, Lorelai looked up at the building, her mouth agape.

"That is one big church," she said.

"You can see it from the highway," he said.

"It's beautiful."

As they walked towards the center of campus, Lorelai unconsciously put her hand in Luke's, lacing her fingers through his. They were silent together for a moment, drawing a little closer as they walked. Lorelai reached over with her other hand and rested it in the crook of Luke's elbow.

"So this is Trinity," she said. "The buildings are kind of… pointy."

Luke looked up and over her head at the building that lined the entire walkway. "That's a dorm, right there, and classrooms. I forget where it splits. They call this the Long Walk."

"I wonder why," Lorelai giggled.

They wandered slowly down the path, Luke pointing out the T formation of the elm trees and the one square of the walkway imprinted with Latin that no one walked on. "It's a superstition thing: if you walk on it, you won't graduate in four years like everyone else."

"So no one walks on it?"

"It's funny when the walk's crowded, you see people in the middle of a conversation just separate to walk around it and keep on talking like they don't realize they've done it," he said.

"I think that's nice," Lorelai said.

He squeezed her hand slightly, absently running his thumb over hers. The fluttering at her ribcage intensified and spread: her insides were quaking.

"I think so," he said.

"So, we're going to the movies, here, on a college campus?"

"There's a movie theater behind the chemistry building. Cinestudio. It was renovated in the seventies—it's neat. I think you'll like it."

"I think I will," Lorelai said.

He lead her into the lobby and they lined up behind a row of students chatting about RA-ing and interning for the summer, their postures slumped and bored. They wore shorts and sweatpants, flannel pajama bottoms, three of them with "Trinity" written in big block letters on the ass. They had identical ponytails and all clutched id cards in their hands.

"What are we seeing?" Lorelai whispered.

"Something called _Pretty in Pink._ They don't usually show movies after seven-thirty on Sundays but—" He trailed off when he saw the gleeful smile on Lorelai's face.

"No way," she said. "_Pretty in Pink?_ That movie is so brilliant."

"You've seen it?" he asked, disappointed.

"Luke, my friend, one cannot possibly see _Pretty in Pink_ too many times. It's a movie for the ages."

"Well, good."

They stood side by side, holding hands as they waited. Lorelai suddenly leaned into Luke, standing on her toes and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Can I tell you what a good time I'm having?" she said.

He lowered his eyes, abashed. "Sure."

She laughed. "It was a rhetorical question." She bit her lip. "I am having the best time," she said.

Lorelai was properly impressed by the theater, the balcony and the old fashioned curtain over the screen, the funny carpeting and the fanfare of the "coming attractions" screen. Luke was more amused by Lorelai than the film itself, stealing glances at her throughout. She mouthed along at certain parts and giggled to herself at the most inappropriate times. She hung on his arm as they left, tripping lightly beside him as he brought her along the Lower Long Walk.

"My favorite part is when she cries because she's so embarrassed about where she lives. No! My favorite part is the parking lot kissing. No, I know, my favorite part is when James Spader call Molly Ringwald a bitch. Do you know, I so wanted to work at the record store? And I used to practice the whole Molly Ringwald thing, how she would bite her lip all the time? Oh, I was so lame. Molly Ringwald is so lame," she said.

"So what exactly is the 'brilliant' part of this movie?" Luke asked.

"Obviously, its subversive commentary on class wars in American high schools."

"Obviously."

"And also, the total blandness of the male romantic lead and his anemic kissing. Brilliant," she said. She stopped walking and caught her breath, looking over the athletic field towards the view of the city. "Who knew Hartford had a skyline?" she said.

"Anyone driving on 84," Luke replied.

Lorelai rolled her eyes and pulled him down to sit beside her on one of the stone benches that lined the long, curving walkway. He put his arm around her and they huddled close in the gathering cool and damp. "This really is a beautiful campus," she said. "I can't believe you went to school here. What did you study?"

"Econ, beer, and baseball."

"Interesting."

"Not really. I hated econ and I was already well acquainted with beer. I liked the baseball, though. That's really why I was here. I had a scholarship."

Lorelai contemplated the sweep of the fields before them. "I can see you playing here," she said. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Did you love it?"

He shrugged slightly. "It was something to do," he said. "Like I said, I went home a lot." She shivered, and he pulled her closer, enjoying the way she leaned against him, how easy it suddenly was, how little she resisted. "Do you have to get back anytime soon?"

"I think Rory wanted some time alone." She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. "You know, you don't ask questions louder than anyone I know."

"You'll tell me when you're ready," he said, adding, "you always do."

"Can I ask _you_ a question?" She took a breath. "Yesterday, before Kirk and… everything. You said you did everything the book said. What did you mean?" She felt him stiffen slightly. "Never mind, it's not—"

"You remember the book you saw in Jess's bag before the wedding?"

Lorelai furrowed her brows. "Yeah," she said. After a moment, realization dawned. "Oh," she said. "But why?"

"Why the book?" She nodded. "It was something you said, that day in the inn kitchen, about Dr. Phil and other stuff—I don't know, I just thought what the hell. I thought it would be bullshit, and a lot of it was, but some of it… it made me think about stuff."

"What stuff?"

"What I wanted. And not what I thought I wanted, you know, but what I really wanted," he said. "I didn't know what else to do—things kept crapping out." He had averted his eyes as he spoke, but after a pause, he looked at Lorelai again. "I do have one question."

Her face was hard to read. "Shoot," she said.

"That guy, last night—"

"Jason?"

"Yeah. What he asked you. If he hadn't sued your dad, would you still be with him?"

Lorelai pulled back slightly. "Oh, Luke," she said sadly. She stared out at the lights of the city for a long moment. "It would have happened sooner or later. Jason wasn't—he didn't—everything for him is about upping someone else, showing off to someone, trying to prove something. I thought it was fun, and everything, but really, he didn't fit. He didn't _belong._ Everything was show and tell and games and… when he sued my dad, it was just a gut reaction: family honor and all that shit. But I realize you can't be with someone who's going to force you to split your life in half. I used to tell Rory all the time that I wanted to keep my personal life separate from her and I know you just can't do that with family, and with Jason? He was always going to be separate. I just didn't realize it until he put me on opposite sides with my dad."

They were quiet a moment, thinking.

"Would you have asked me out if you hadn't read that book?" she asked.

"You know it's more than that," Luke said.

"Tell me."

He sighed. "It made me remember some stuff," he said.

"It made you think about stuff and remember stuff. That's quite a book." Seeing his look, she cringed. "Sorry."

"There were just things that I had forgotten… feelings—"

"That's a new word for us," Lorelai said, smiling sadly.

"—that were just, you know."

"What?"

"Pointless."

"No, Luke," she said, "that's awful." She put a hand to her forehead. "God, I'm the worst person."

"No, you're not." He sighed again and pushed the errant lock of hair behind her ear. "This is gonna sound dumb," he began.

"Then I'm gonna _love _it," Lorelai said.

"I needed to remember what possibility felt like," he said.

"That," she said, "is the least dumb thing I've ever heard." She paused. "I was surprised, I have to say it. At you, at my reaction—I've been falling over tables and walking into doors and having heart attacks—"

"What?"

"Metaphorical heart attacks," she said. "I think, anyway."

"And?" he asked.

Lorelai noticed how he held his breath, waiting, and it made her smile. "It made me think about some stuff," she said, "and remember some stuff."

She kissed him then, feeling the gentle pain in her chest again, which together with the fluttering sensation brought tears to her eyes. He drew her closer, his hands on the small of her back and at the base of her neck. _This time,_ she thought, _I might really be having a heart attack._

When the kiss broke, Luke rested his forehead against Lorelai's, his eyes closed. He could almost hear her pulse and his own, thrumming too fast, too close to the surface.

"Man," Lorelai said, "I wish my memory didn't suck so much."

He laughed then, more than she had ever seen or heard him do before. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Come on," he said, "I'm taking you home."

She gasped, delighted: "Dirty!"

He shook his head ruefully. "Oh, man," he said. "Ice cream?"

"Oh, always," she said.

He put his arm around her as they walked. "Well, at least some things never change."


	5. Sunday and Into Monday

Sunday and Into Monday

Though Lorelai cooed and sighed over the ice cream sundae she and Luke shared at AC Petersen's, she maintained throughout the drive home that it was in no way superior to those at Luke's. It was when they reentered Stars Hollow that conversation turned to how they would handle the night's close. Lorelai asked Luke to drop her at the Inn and say goodnight to her there, leaving her to walk home. Luke was adamant that it was no way to end a proper first date.

"Or any date," he said. "Who does that?"

"If you come home with me, Babette will see," she told him. "Do we want people to know?"

"Know what?"

Lorelai looked at him darkly. "Luke. That we're, you know, _this_," she said, spreading her hands.

"And what does '_this_' mean, Lorelai?"

"And you tell me that _I'm_ work," she said.

"You are." He paused. "You're right, though."

Lorelai sighed. "It's not like I want to keep this a secret," she said. "Because secrets are—"

"Bad. Really bad. Never end well," he finished.

"Right. But…"

"It's Stars Hollow."

"They'll watch everything."

"Everything."

Luke eased the truck to a halt at a stop sign. "And if we're gonna do _this,_" he said, gesturing between them, "we gotta do it on our own terms."

"I completely agree."

"And our own time," he said.

"You are so right," Lorelai said. "So we don't tell."

Luke nodded. "Say nothing."

"Be discreet."

"Fly under the radar."

A slow grin spread over Lorelai's face. "Think of all the secret nookie opportunities!"

"Excuse me?"

She giggled. "Stolen kisses, secret trysts, significant looks shared in the presence of others who are clueless. It's like a spy movie! A Victorian spy movie! I'm so going to have to buy a new wardrobe," she said.

As Luke pulled into the drive, Lorelai saw Babette emerging onto her porch next door. She groaned and indicated with a tilt of her head. "Ask me in for coffee," he told her.

"You don't drink coffee," she said.

"Tea, then."

"I don't drink tea, and there has never been any in this house."

"Lorelai, the details are not important."

"Coffee. Right."

Babette was calling her name before Lorelai was even out of the truck. "Lorelai, sugar, I'm so glad you're back; I've been meaning to talk to you."

She smiled and crossed the lawn, Luke following behind. "Hi Babette, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine, doll—can't remember the last time I was so well rested. That inn of yours is gonna be just heavenly," Babette said.

"Oh, thank you," Lorelai said. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I sure did. Sugar, I've been waiting for you to pop out all evening," she said.

"Oh, well, Luke and I went to Hartford to do some—"

"Car shopping," Luke said.

"'Bout time, you crazy girl. Riding around in that death trap for years, I don't know how you haven't had a broken neck three times over," Babette said.

"The Jeep is fine—I love that car."

"Why are you shopping for a new one, then?" Babette asked.

Lorelai shifted on her feet. "Oh, you know, lost a bet."

"Luke lose one, too? What's with the getup?"

Luke cleared his throat. "It was contingent on her going—I gotta dress like a moron."

"Moron is a great look for summer, I hear," Lorelai said. "So, Babette, what's up?"

"Rory, doll—haven't seen hide or hair of her since yesterday. She hasn't run off with some hoodlum, has she?"

Luke cleared his throat at this; Lorelai smiled softly. "No, Babette. She's just a little under the weather. Case of the sniffles, I think, but she's milking it like she's Debra Winger."

"Oh, sorry to hear that, honey; give her our love, huh?"

"Will do, Babette." She paused. "Well, I'm going to go in for some coffee—anyone want to join me? Babette?"

"Thanks, sugar, but if I drink that stuff this late I'm up all night with the heartburn. Getting old is a terrible thing," she said.

Lorelai put her arm around Babette and squeezed her shoulder. "Good thing no one around here's doing it," she said. She looked up. "Luke? I don't have _tea_, but I think I can offer you some hot water and lemon." She batted her lashes and smiled innocently.

Luke glowered. "Sounds _perfect,_" he said.

They said their good nights to Babette and entered the Gilmore house through the kitchen door. Lorelai pulled the shades and leaned against the counter. "Nothing gets past that woman. All the lights are out here—Rory must be in bed already."

"She going to be okay?"

Lorelai nodded, her expression thoughtful. "She's got a lot to process right now. I think she lost her sense of who she is this year, first year of college and all, and she's got to figure it all out again. She's a tough nut, though."

"Like her mom," he said.

"Some would say I have nut-like qualities," Lorelai said. "She'll be okay, eventually. It's just going to take time."

Silence too much resembling the earlier, awkward one in the truck fell. Lorelai was acutely conscious of the distance between them: she stood at the counter by the sink, he by the dining table. She put out a hand to him and he stepped closer, closing it in both of his.

"I had a really, really good time with you," she told him.

"I want to take you out again," he said abruptly.

"Good. Me too."

"When?"

"Soon."

"Wednesday?"

"Perfect," she said. "Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel?" He nodded. "Okay, then. I'll see you. Tomorrow?" Again, he nodded. "Well, good." He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close. She took a breath, raised her eyes to meet his. "If I really am having a heart attack, you're the one paying for the medication, you know."

"Noted," he said. He watched the color in her face change, felt the heat of her flush even through her sweater. The same lock of hair was hanging by her cheek; he took his time, hooking it over his finger, sliding his finger along her cheek as he reached to tuck the hair behind her ear. Lorelai's breath caught in her throat. After a moment more, she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, get on with it already," she said and put her hand to his cheek, closing the small distance between them, kissing him softly.

"Romantic," he said after a long moment.

She shrugged, grinning. "Romance requires patience," she said, "which is a virtue I have not."

"I'm stunned," he said. He kissed her again, briefly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Lorelai braced herself against the counter as he left, wondering how much of this she could take before she spontaneously imploded. She put her hand to her throat at the thought and gasped, "dirty!" to herself.

* * *

Rory had finished _Wangdoodles_ after her mother left, as well as the _Ab Fab_ DVDs, and after picking at the leftover food, discovered a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ hiding under the sofa. She tucked herself into Lorelai's bed, propped up on pillows, and stepped onto Emily Bronte's moor. This, she soon discovered, was not the best of ideas. After reading a while, she tossed the book across the room and curled up, pulling the covers over her head. With her knees tucked to her chest and eyes closed, the thinking began again. And when the thinking had gone on long enough, she tossed the covers aside, retrieved the book, and reached for the phone.

"Hi, Grandma," she said.

Later, when her mother peeked her head around the doorway, she sat upright in bed.

"Am I Catherine, or am I Heathcliff?" she demanded.

"Currently? It seems you're Sybil," Lorelai said, kicking off her shoes.

Rory waved the book at her. "Catherine or Heathcliff?"

"Chicken or beef?" Lorelai responded. "Babe, what are you talking about?"

"_Wuthering__Heights_ Rory said.

Lorelai sighed as she stripped off her sweater and skirt. "Rory, honey, love of my heart, at the moment I'm not sure who's crazier: you or Emily Bronte. Until just a second ago, old Em had the clear advantage, what with the whole imaginary kingdom thing she had going, but you seem to be coming up from behind. How could you possibly think that you're either one of those two _fictional_ characters?"

"I think the parallels are very clear," Rory said.

"Scoot over," Lorelai said, sliding under the covers. "I think you need to put the dangerous book down," she said, taking the novel from her daughter. "There are no parallels. You are Rory Gilmore. You'd kick Catherine's ass and Heathcliff? He's just a crazy stalker. Why are you reading this?"

"It was under the couch," Rory said.

"Ah, and suddenly everything's clear," Lorelai said. "No more crazy talk."

Rory nodded emphatically. "Crazy talk ceased. So," she said, rolling on her side to face her mother, "how was your big _date?_"

Lorelai smiled, closed her eyes, shook her head. "I," she said, "am in trouble. I am such big, big trouble."

"Tell me, tell me."

"It was amazing. It was amazing! It? Was _amazing._"

Rory laughed. "That bad, huh?"

"Oh, Rory, he did everything right. The restaurant, the movie, the locale—it was perfect." She covered her face with her hands. "Crap."

"Oh, Mom," Rory said, snuggling down on her shoulder.

"Oh, Rory," Lorelai replied. "And how are you? Besides crazy?"

"I am—I don't know. I did something." In response to her mother's questioning look, she said, "I called Grandma."

"Never a good idea in times of trial," Lorelai intoned. "And?"

Rory took a breath. "I think I'm going to Europe. With Grandma." After a lengthy silence, she spoke again. "Mom? Are you dead?"

"I don't know," Lorelai answered. "Pinch me." Rory reached out, but Lorelai batted her hand away. "Don't pinch me. Going to Europe? With Grandma? Why?"

"It seems like a good idea."

Lorelai sat up. "Babe, I think that if you want to go to Europe for your own personal edification and enjoyment or to spend quality time with your grandmother, to see great architecture and mock the personal hygiene of those who live on the continent, by all means, you should go. But if you're going because you need to run away, because the reality of the situation here is too much for you, that's just a really bad idea. Running away, it doesn't solve anything. Everything you left behind is just going to seem bigger and worse in retrospect, and when you get back it's just going to feel like the shoes you used to wear all the time that you love but are all worn out so you stopped wearing them and eventually, when you go to put them on again, they're too small and it's devastating."

"I'm not running away," Rory said. "Not entirely. A little, I think, but not entirely. I just—I don't know who I am anymore. I spent the whole year running back and forth between Yale and home, trying to be a grown up and a college student while still being the same Rory Gilmore I've always been, and it was confusing and weird and I didn't even know it. You know, Jess came to see me—"

"What? When?"

"After his mom's wedding. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. He came to see me, and he wanted me to go away with him, and I didn't want to go. I just wanted to stay here, in Connecticut, in Stars Hollow—everything else just seemed too big, and I didn't want to change anything. Everything here is familiar and safe and solid. And Dean was such a big part of that, so this whole mess with him and Lindsay—I don't know. I can't stay just because it's safe. And I don't want to leave, but that's why I think I kinda have to," she said. She raised her eyes to meet Lorelai's gaze. "What do you think?"

Lorelai leaned forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Do what you have to do, Rory. If you think you need to go and figure out who you are, you should go. But," she said, "don't go thinking you'll come back with all the answers. Or that you will be _allowed_ to come back without massive amounts of presents and expensive chocolates for your mother."

"Well, that's a given."

"When do you go?"

"We're leaving Friday."

"So soon?"

"I think Grandma wants to get away, too," Rory said.

"So we have a lot to do this week," Lorelai said. "You're going to need a whole new traveling wardrobe and books and underwear and…"

"Mom, it's not a big deal."

"You're traveling with Emily Gilmore. There are things to be done, things to be bought," Lorelai said. She put her arms around her daughter. "And we can do it all tomorrow. Let's get some sleep." She paused. "You're totally sleeping here until you leave, aren't you?"

"Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay. You will have to go back eventually."

Rory sighed. "I know. That room—it just freaks me out a little."

Lorelai kissed her again and closed her eyes. "I, my friend, will take care of it."

"So, when you and Luke get married, I think that the entire wedding party should wear plaid," Rory said. "Plaid flannel tuxedos, plaid flannel bridesmaid dresses—and baseball hats for headpieces. And French fry bouquets! And Kirk could marry you, and—"

"You're hysterical. Now shut up, please. Sleep."

"Mom?"

"Shh."

"I love you," Rory said.

"Everyone does," Lorelai replied.

TBC: I'm going to keep the focus heavily on Lorelai and Luke, but I'm going to spend a little time with Rory on her trip as well, mostly as it relates to how Lorelai's goings-on in Stars Hollow, I think. Meaning that we'll mostly see Rory's trip through Lorelai's perspective. Thoughts?


	6. Monday

Monday

There were several things Lorelai was not looking forward to: discussing the European vacation (an unfortunately un-National Lampoon one) with Emily, spending time with Rory while simultaneously hating that she was leaving and pretending to be excited, running into Dean as she so certainly would at the inn, and greeting Luke in front of the entirety of Stars Hollow. And all this on an empty stomach and only the vestiges of last night's caffeine running through her system. She took a deep breath before she opened the door to the diner and headed to the counter.

Luke was waiting on Kirk at his usual table, repeatedly asking Kirk to shut up. Lorelai leaned forward on the counter, her chin in her hand, surreptitiously watching him from the corner of his eye.

"Kirk, it's no big deal."

"I can name my first-born after you," Kirk said.

"No, Kirk."

"A dog," he said.

"No, Kirk."

"I'll work at the diner free of charge one day a week for the rest of my life."

"Most definitely: 'no, Kirk.'"

"There must be something I can do to show my appreciation," Kirk said.

"You can shut up about showing your appreciation, stop running around naked, and never mention the entire incident to me. Ever," Luke said.

Kirk opened his mouth to speak and shut it again immediately, winking and nodding in agreement. Luke sighed and turned back towards the counter. Seeing Lorelai, his expression lifted. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Coffee?"

"And how," she said. "To go. And any food-shaped things that will travel well. I'm starving."

"I'm shocked. Big day planned?"

Lorelai nodded, sipping the coffee he'd already poured in a massive mug for her. "Sookie, Michel, and I are going to go over those comment cards, and I have to take Rory into Hartford this afternoon to buy some luggage, after which I have to go to my _parents'_ house to show the luggage to my mother and get her stamp of approval, which means probably a return trip to the mall to return said luggage and buy new luggage. Lather, rinse, repeat," she said.

"What do you have to buy luggage for?"

She stared into her coffee cup as she spoke. "Rory's going to Europe with my mother for six weeks."

Luke stopped cold. "What?"

She raised her eyes to meet his. "She leaves Friday."

"This Friday?"

"Yeah," Lorelai sighed.

"Is she okay?" Luke asked.

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "No, Luke, she's got the galloping consumption and she's heading to Europe with my mother to take the healing waters."

"Is she or is she not okay?"

"If she wasn't okay, I wouldn't be letting her go on this trip," Lorelai said. "She just needs some distance from this town, I guess. I don't know, Luke. I don't know."

"You want to talk?"

She gave him a watery, thankful smile. "I really do. I can't just yet, though. And this week…"

"Is going to be hell on wheels for you. I get it. You want to cancel… that thing," he said, darting his eyes around.

"Not cancel. _Postpone_. Rory and my mom leave for New York at three on Friday, and Emily won't let me go to the airport with them. Which, though I hate to say it, is probably a good idea. So, I'm going to be home all alone," she said, spinning her cup. "Alllll alone. Alone, alone, alone. Sad Lorelai, all alone."

Luke struggled to maintain a straight face. "Would you like some company?"

Lorelai tilted one shoulder towards him and rested her chin there, looking at him sidelong. "Why, Luke, how lovely of you to offer." She held his gaze for a minute before she slumped, leaning to rest her chin on the rim of her cup. "I'm going to need you," she said quietly.

"I'll be there," he said. "In the meantime, you call me."

"Thank you."

She finished her coffee as he bustled around the diner, behind the counter, helping people, bagging food for her. She watched him as he moved around, watching her as she watched him. Though the soft fluttering behind her ribcage was no longer accompanied by the nervous quaking and breathing seemed much easier, it persisted. As she swallowed the dregs in her cup, she closed her eyes and hoped it would stick around as long as possible; she'd even be okay with its permanent presence.

Lorelai was fishing for money at the bottom of her handbag when the bell over the door rang. Luke was back behind the counter, trying to stop her from paying.

"Your money's no good here," he said.

"Luke," she said.

"Lorelai," he replied.

She laughed. "Well, if you're going to insist."

"I am."

Someone cleared his throat just behind her, and Lorelai stepped away from the counter. "I won't keep you," she said.

The person behind her spoke: "oh, don't worry about it."

Luke saw the color drain from Lorelai's face as he handed her a paper bag full of muffins and donuts. He studied her as she turned away from the counter. Dean stood beside her, slouching in his work clothes.

"Hey, Lorelai," Dean said.

Lorelai tucked her hair behind her ears and looked at her feet, shifting uncomfortably. "Dean," she said.

"How's things?" he asked.

"Fine." She raised her eyes, her face set in hard lines. "You?"

Luke watched Dean shrug and seem to shrink slightly where he stood. Tall as he was, he seemed dwarfed beside Lorelai, her chin tilted up in anger, almost defiantly. After a moment of this silent, one-sided warfare, Lorelai turned her face away, shaking her head, her lips pursed together in what Luke recognized as a "of all the fucking nerve" expression.

She reached out and took the bag from Luke's extended hand. "Bye, Dean," she said disdainfully. "Nice seeing you." She looked at Luke but was unable to meet his eyes. "Thanks," she said. "I'll see you."

Lorelai turned on her heel and walked out of the diner, clutching the take-out bag with both hands. Luke gave Dean one long, hard look before he stepped out from behind the counter and headed for the door.

"Luke," Dean began, but stopped when Luke put his hand up.

"Don't," he said, his voice low. "I don't know anything, but I don't have anything to say to you, either. Lane!" he bellowed.

Lane popped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "What's up?"

"I've got to step out for a minute. You're in charge," he said, pointing at her.

He ran out onto the sidewalk and jogged in the direction of the Dragonfly, catching up to Lorelai in a matter of moments. She walked at a brisk clip, muttering to herself. He refrained from reaching out to her, grabbing her arm, drawing her to him, as they were still in town and all of those things would seem decidedly out of the ordinary. Instead, he simply called her name.

She stopped, turned. "I can't talk about this with you right now," she said.

"What did he do?" Luke asked. "I'll take him out, I swear. Just give me the word."

Lorelai lowered her head and considered her shoes for a moment. "Luke," she said, her voice low. "There's nothing you can do—there's nothing either one of us can do. But please," she said, and when she looked up there were tears in her eyes, "leave it be. What I did back there, how I reacted, that was fucking stupid. If anyone figures out—"

She stopped, bit her lip. Luke's hands balled into fists and he felt his throat constrict. Secrecy be damned, he would have put his arms around her right there had she not stepped back, taking a deep breath to calm herself. When she met his eye again, he saw that steeliness that made her a good manager and a strong woman and above all, a fierce mother.

"I want to help," he said.

"I know. And you do, just by wanting to. I'll explain everything, soon."

He nodded. "Okay. Well, then. I'll see you."

Lorelai smiled ruefully. "Probably sooner than you'll want to."

"No such time."

"Right back at you," she said, giving him what she hoped was a significant look before she turned and walked away.

* * *

Lorelai, Sookie, and Michel devised a system for the comment cards to make them as helpful as possible. They read each one individually and put them in categories: "too nice to be sincere out of fear of hurting feelings," "sincere but stupid," "sincere and complimentary," "critical, yet both sincere and helpful," "critical but stupid," and "Taylor." 

They crafted a list of issues they needed to address from these piles and gathered the staff to pass along compliments and discuss the ways in which to prevent the problems that came up in the "critical, sincere, and helpful" cards. Each then went to his or her separate work—Michel to man the phones and belittle the staff, Sookie to the kitchen, and Lorelai to her back office to call most of the kitchen staff and cajole them back to work. As she made her calls, with her best wheedling voice, she experienced a return of that warm buzz she always got from working her managerial magic, a feeling she had not had too much of since the Independence burned down. She was able to forget what she felt was her moment of crushing stupidity at the diner and work with a clear head. When the last phone call was complete, she sat back in her chair and treated herself to a cup of coffee and one of Sookie's cookies.

She thought about her encounter with Dean in the diner and felt hypocritical and small. Dean was an asshat and a bastard and a lot of other things, but he wasn't the only villain in the piece. She didn't feel vindicated or satisfied for treating him so coldly, but she was sure she couldn't bring herself to treat him otherwise or in any way that would make her feel better. She reprimanded herself that it didn't matter how she felt, what mattered was Rory, her kid—and, if she conceded just the tiniest bit, Lindsay, who she hadn't had the guts to consider while she concentrated on consoling Rory and mending her family. If she hadn't been so pissed at herself, she would have let Luke take care of her. She hated the taste of the words in her mouth when she told him there was nothing they could do, either of them. She had wanted nothing more than to let him put his arms around her and to cry on his shoulder out of sheer frustration and helplessness. But she didn't deserve that kind of comfort.

Lorelai sighed and pushed herself away from her desk. "Oy, with the melodrama already," she said softly to herself.

She wandered to the kitchen. "Something," she said, "smells _heavenly_."

"Remember that peach sauce, with the maple syrup?" Sookie said. "Try this. You're gonna _plotz_." She shoved the spoon in Lorelai's mouth.

Lorelai put her hand under her chin and slurped. "Oh, my God. So that's what plotzing feels like," she said. "Divine. Have you made that before?"

Sookie waved her hand dismissively. "A million years ago at the Independence. Thought I'd revisit it."

"Well, I have good news: I got back four of our kitchen staff, which brings us back to the magic number of—"

"Five!" Sookie cried, clapping her hands with excitement. "You are a genius!"

Lorelai grinned. "Well, I did have to promise them that Michel would not be allowed in the kitchen, nor would he be allowed to talk to them. Ever."

"Would that we were all so lucky," Sookie said. "You off?"

She sighed. "To face the beast. Emily, not Rory."

"I can't believe she's going away for six whole weeks. She's going to miss the opening!"

"Well, you know Emily. Once she makes up her mind…" Lorelai let her voice trail off. "I don't know what I'm going to do without her."

Sookie patted her friend's arm. "Lorelai, you made it a whole school year without her. Six weeks is nothing."

"I know. It's just that New Haven isn't Rome, you know?"

"Be fun if it were," Sookie said, and began to giggle. "Rome, Connecticut," she said.

"Bye, Sookie," Lorelai said, laughing.

She found Rory at the computer, researching luggage, when she got home. "I think I found the best deal _and_ something Grandma will approve of," Rory told her. "It's department store, so it's sure to go over gangbusters."

"Gangbusters?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "Don't you start," she said.

Lorelai leaned against the wall and looked at her daughter. "You look better today."

"Keeping busy helps."

"I saw Dean this morning," she said, and immediately regretted it. Rory's face fell: Lorelai was ashamed to think Rory resembled a wet paper bag.

"And?"

Lorelai decided honesty was best, and said, "he looked like shit."

Rory appeared to consider this. At length, she could only say, "Oh."

"Babe? What were you'd hoping I'd say?"

"I don't know." She paused. "I guess it's good that he looks like shit, because that means he probably feels like shit. But do I want him to feel like shit because he's leaving Lindsay, or because he slept with me and he plans on never speaking to me again?"

Lorelai put her arm around her daughter and walked her to the kitchen. "Can't answer that one for you, hon."

"What do you think?" Rory asked, and cringed. "Don't answer that."

"I had no intention."

"Where did you see him?"

"Luke's."

A sly grin overspread Rory's face. "Ah, _Luke's_," she said. "And how was it seeing the man Himself?"

She tried not to smile and failed as she reached for the Pop Tarts. "It was nice. It was completely like every other morning I've ever gone into Luke's, but different."

"Articulate."

Lorelai handed her the extra Pop Tart. "Oh, shut up. Like you're Wendy Wasserstein." Around a mouthful of pastry, she said, "come on. Hartford and judgment awaits."

Miraculously, Emily approved not only of the luggage, but also the spring coat, the three pairs of shoes, and the two skirts Lorelai insisted Rory have for the trip.

"You did charge it all to our account, yes?" Emily asked.

"Of course," Lorelai said. "But Mom, I can help pay for this stuff."

Emily held up her hand. "Nonsense, Lorelai; you've got other financial concerns right now, and we're happy to take care of these things for our granddaughter. She can make good use of them at Yale, as well."

"True enough," Rory said. "Those boots are amazing."

"Rory," Emily said, "would you give me and your mother a moment alone?" She watched Rory out of the room and turned to her daughter. "Lorelai, I need to know why this trip is so suddenly a necessity for Rory."

Lorelai crossed her arms over her chest. "That's something you'll have to bring up with Rory," she said.

"I'm bringing it up with you," Emily returned. "Lorelai, there's a reason that this trip is suddenly the most important thing in the world. Not that I'm protesting, mind you, as I am looking forward to my time with her enormously, and I myself could use a—a break from certain things—"

"Mom," Lorelai began.

"—but if there's something I need to know, I'd like to know now and not in Paris when it's too late. I might say something inappropriate or hurtful and not be aware of it."

"Imagine that," Lorelai said.

"Lorelai," Emily said, her voice a warning.

Lorelai looked around the room, marveling. "Man, people have been saying my name _a lot_ lately." She lowered herself to the sofa and rested her elbows on her knees. "Rory has been going through some personal things, and it's been a very unsettling year for her."

"How so?"

"I'll only tell you what I think Rory will be comfortable with, Mom, and I won't keep that from her."

"As you wish."

She gave a harsh laugh. "Right. Oh, where to begin? Well, you remember Jess?"

"The cell-phone hater."

"That guy. He's been popping in and out of Rory's life all year, sending mixed messages, confusing her. He shows up, tells her he loves her, and then gets in a car and drives away," Lorelai said, feeling the familiar Jess-anger rising like bile in her throat. "Shit head." She bit her lip: "Sorry. So there's that, and then there's Dean—"

"The first boyfriend."

"Very good, Mom."

"I pay attention," Emily said.

"Don't I know it. Dean got married to someone Rory went to high school with, and he's been unhappy, dropped out of school, and Rory's been very invested in that. She hasn't had successful relationships at school, and I think Yale was a little more than she was prepared for, emotionally. It's been a year of upheaval for her, Mom, and I think she just feels it's important to get away and sort herself out." She stopped and took a breath. "Didn't you ever feel like that?"

Emily sat beside Lorelai. She suddenly seemed more weary than Lorelai had ever seen her. "Sometimes, I still do," she said. "Lorelai, I do apologize for taking my frustration with my father out on you the other night."

Lorelai sat up straight. "Wait, is it cold in here? I think hell just suddenly froze over."

Her mother rose immediately. "You never make anything easy for a person, do you, Lorelai?"

At this, Lorelai softened. "I'm sorry, Mom. Please, go on."

"Thank you." Emily began to pace. "I realize that you had the best intentions and that you weren't trying to antagonize us; this separation is very hard for everyone, I know. I think the best thing for your father and I is just to take some time apart."

"Mom, if this is because of Floyd's lawsuit and Jason—"

"Oh, Lorelai, your father and I have been married for forty years. A tiny thing like that is not going to be the only thing to cause a rift like this. Though I wasn't _pleased_ at your relationship with Jason or your apparent need to keep it a secret, I certainly don't blame you for what your father and I are going through at the moment."

"I'm sure I don't help that much," Lorelai said.

"No, you don't, but you really shouldn't blame yourself."

"Thank you, Mom. And you know, Jason wasn't staying at the inn that night. We broke up. I couldn't be with him after he brought that lawsuit against Dad. And I regret that conversation with Dad—I think I understand why he did it."

"Do you? Enlighten me."

"Floyd put him in a position where he didn't have any other option—either stay with Jason and lose everything or come back to the fold with his tail between his legs and keep what he's worked so hard for all these years. It's a shitty choice to have to make, and Floyd and Jason both _suck_ for getting Dad into a situation where he'd have to decide one way or the other." She paused. "Going the other way would have been the bigger thing to do, but Dad's never been about doing the bigger thing. He's told me sometimes you have to sacrifice what you want for what you need to do. I hate that—I've never been good at doing that. I don't see the need—" Again, she paused, visibly collecting her thoughts, trying to reign in her emotions. "I reacted badly. It was a gut reaction. If my parents were doing it, it must be wrong." She put her hand to her forehead. "Moronic, after all the stuff that's happened with us over the past few years, I know. Dad was protecting his family like he always does."

"That doesn't make any of this right," Emily said.

"No," Lorelai replied, her voice sad, "but he is what he is, Mom. So am I. And so is Rory, and so are you." She looked at her mother imploringly. "Mom, I don't want you or Rory to go away just to avoid things. I need you—I need you to take care of each other. You can't let things get so bad that you have to get away from them to figure them out."

Emily let out a derisive laugh. "That's really rich, considering the source," she said.

"Well, then," Lorelai said, feeling chastened. "Consider me an authority who knows of what she speaks. Really, Mom. At least take care of Rory. She's in a rough spot, emotionally."

"You needn't worry about Rory while she's with me," Emily said.

"I know. And now I've said my piece. We should get going; there's a lot to do this week." She called for Rory and they said their goodbyes.

Emily called for her girls to stop at the door. "Thank you, Lorelai. I'll think about what you said. Rory, I'll see you for some more shopping tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, Grandma. Thank you so much for everything."

Emily walked to them, her arms open. She kissed Rory and held her tightly. "You don't ever have to thank me for anything," she said. One arm around Rory, she held out her hand and touched Lorelai's face. "I'll see you Friday."

Lorelai felt a lump in her throat. She didn't often see her mother this emotional. "See you, Mom. Come on, Rory. Let's get home."

In the car, Rory asked what the exchange at the door was all about. "What was Grandma thanking you for?"

Lorelai reached out and put her hand on the crown of Rory's head. "We were… sorting some things out. She wanted to know why you were suddenly going with her."

"What did you tell her?"

Lorelai recapped the Rory-related parts of the conversation. "Don't either of you spend too much time alone," she said. "Or together, depending on the situation."

Rory snorted. "That clears everything right up," she said. "Hey, can we go to Luke's for dinner?"

Lorelai turned her head sharply. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." They were silent a while. "Do you think anyone knows?"

"I don't think so, babe."

"What about Luke?" Lorelai wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. "Mom?"

"I think he may have figured it out, by my reaction to Dean." She recapped the conversation. "I didn't think, hon. I'm sorry."

She heaved a great sigh. "That's enough for people to catch on, I think. It's okay. You're my mom, you're allowed to have a reaction."

"Why, thank you, sweetie. That's very giving of you."

"Just drive, Jeeves."

"Whatever you say, lady."

"I like that sound of that," Rory said.

"Oh, Rory, babe, I'm going to miss you."

"Don't worry, you'll be well taken care of while I'm gone."

"How so?"

The bemused smile Rory had adopted in regards to her mother's new romantic situation appeared again. "With me gone, and you all alone, you'll have plenty of excuses to hang out at the diner and for Luke to keep you from overdosing on the Ben and Jerry's."

"I might do that even with Luke around," Lorelai said. "And I've got to say, your obsession with this Luke thing is starting to get unhealthy."

Rory laughed. "Oh, I'm going to have so much fun with this."

"Sadist."

"I am my mother's daughter," Rory replied.

Lorelai touched Rory's cheek. "You are that," she said. "No doubt about it."


	7. Wednesday

Wednesday

It was after her conversation with Emily that Lorelai began to feel the whole trip was beginning to feel underhanded and sketchy. She had spoken briefly to her father, when he called to inquire what sort of spending allowance he should give Rory for the trip, and had replied in the most off-hand and casual way that both Rory and Mom deserved a break when he asked why the sudden need to jet across the ocean. She had the feeling neither of them had been very satisfied with the conversation when they eventually hung up. Lorelai and Rory reasoned to everyone else—including Sookie and Lane—that Emily hadn't had a real vacation in years and Richard was so busy with his business that he couldn't be taken away, while Lorelai would have rather lit herself on fire than spend six weeks traveling with her mother. The Lorelais both marveled at the fact that no one in Stars Hollow had heard the shouting match between her parents at the Inn on Saturday night, nor the following one between Luke and Lorelai, and the one between Luke, Lorelai, and Jason after that. They concluded that the Dragonfly had truly magical qualities, mainly stupefaction: it rendered those within it incapable of observing others with the same minute attention to what was not their business that they applied to everything else in Stars Hollow. Lorelai thought she should put it in the brochure.

Neither Rory nor Lorelai felt right about lying to their best friends, and Lorelai had purposely avoided going to the diner on Tuesday in order to prevent the inevitable conversation with Luke about what was really going on with Rory, and more particularly, Rory and Dean. After an extended late night discussion, they decided that after their last shared dinner at Luke's before Rory left, Rory would tell Lane everything, and Lorelai was given permission to explain everything to Luke. Rory asked Lorelai to hold off on telling Sookie until after she and her grandmother had left.

"I love Sookie, and I love Jackson," Rory said, "but Sookie tells Jackson everything, and Jackson tells everyone else." She looked at her mother. "Does she know about you and Luke?"

Lorelai shook her head. "I feel terrible keeping things from her. But I think she'd be discreet for both of us if I told her how important it was."

They were still sharing Lorelai's bed and huddled together in the dark. Rory sighed audibly and Lorelai reached out and took her hand.

"Obviously, Dean hasn't told Lindsay yet," Rory said, "or it'd be all over town. And he still hasn't called me. I don't know what to think."

"You're going to hate what I have to say," Lorelai began.

"It's okay."

"Let Dean take care of Dean and Lindsay take care of Lindsay. You just concentrate on whatever you need to do for yourself. You can't force anything with him. Just think about what you want to do next, babe; that's all you can do," she said.

"I just keep thinking about the fact that I had sex. I had sex. I'm not a virgin. I had sex," she said again. "Sex! It was my first time!"

"I know," Lorelai said.

"And I did it all wrong. I know that," Rory continued, but stopped at Lorelai's pathetic attempt to smother a giggle.

"Oh, hon, I know you're being completely serious, but replay what you just said and you'll hear what I heard," Lorelai laughed.

After a moment, Rory couldn't help but laugh as well. "Nice, Mom. Way to ruin a moment of crushing self-awareness."

"Rory, two in the morning isn't really the best time to have these kinds of thoughts," Lorelai said.

"What kind of thoughts are suitable to two in the morning, then, oh wise one?"

"Well, consider the fact that cheesecake is called cheesecake, when most often it is served in a pie crust. Really, it should be called cheese _pie_, but no one would eat it if it were called cheese pie, because, gross, right? But cheesecake is a misleading misnomer, crust or no, because it doesn't have the consistency of cake or any other cake-like qualities; and really, when you think about it, how is cheese_cake_ any more appetizing than cheese _pie?_" Lorelai asked.

"It is a conundrum," Rory replied.

"I know, right?"

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Your brain is a wonderful and frightening thing."

Lorelai giggled. "You should try walking around with it: that's the fun part."

Wednesday was filled with the purchasing of last things, locating passports, assembling toiletries, selecting what books would make the cut for the trip, choosing CDs, and telling Lorelai to stop affecting her mother's voice to critique Rory's choices. At six-thirty, Lorelai dropped herself to the floor of living room, where all of Rory's things were scattered in haphazard piles.

"I'm hungry," she whined.

"Which do you think is better train music: David Gray or Mindy Smith?" Rory asked.

"Who the hell is Mindy Smith? What are you listening to?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "You're no help at all. Let's go."

As they walked to the diner, Lorelai watched her daughter from the corner of her eye. She seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for something. She put her arm about Rory's shoulders. "I could just get take out," Lorelai said.

Rory shook her head. "It's dumb. No one knows, right?"

"Babe, no one knows."

"And it's not like people will be able to tell, right?"

"Actually, you are now displaying a great flashing neon light over your head that says 'I had sex,'" Lorelai said in a low whisper. "No one can tell," she said. "Trust me. You're the same Rory you were a week ago."

"Not really," Rory said, affecting lightness. "But no one else knows that."

Luke's head snapped up when the bell above the door rang; each time it rang since his last conversation with Lorelai, he couldn't help but jerk his head up in hopes that she was the person walking through the door. The diner was at this moment full of people, but there was one table in the back, near the window, that he had kept empty for them, not knowing but hoping they would come. They seated themselves; immediately Lorelai began drumming her fingers on the table.

"You know, I could really use some _coffee_," she said, loudly.

Rory shook her head. "Way to keep up appearances," she said.

Lorelai smiled innocently. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"Yes. By annoying everyone in the diner, you are certainly behaving the same way you always do," Rory said.

They gave each other playfully pissed off looks as Luke stepped up to the table, coffee pot in hand. He poured them generous cupfuls without asking and stood with his hand on his hip.

"You want the usual?" he asked gruffly.

"And what would that be?"

"Burgers."

"Burger for me," Rory said, "and chili fries. And pickles."

"Burger, chili fries, and pickles," he repeated. He looked at Lorelai. "You gonna order or am I just gonna stand here?"

"You know, your customer service skills leave a lot to be desired."

"I'm heartbroken," he said.

"I," Lorelai said, "will have a _cheeseburger._ That would be a burger, but with cheese."

"Thanks for clearing that up. Anything else?"

"Onion rings," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I would like some onion rings. Some really big, tasty, onion rings. Can I also have some horseradish on the side? And chili on the burger?"

Rory snorted with laughter. "Just warn me before you breathe; I like my eyebrows, and I don't want them singed off in the near future."

"Rory, I do not know _what_ you are talking about," Lorelai said, picking up her coffee cup and taking a pointed sip. She looked up at Luke. "Are you still here?" she said.

He smothered a smile. "That's what you want?"

"That's what I want," she grinned.

"Gotcha," he said. "I'll have that right up."

When he had returned to his place behind the counter, Lorelai flashed a devious smile at Rory. "I hope you're taking notes," she said.

They ate in companionable silence, or while chatting about nothing, occasionally mocking Kirk and Taylor, who were engaged in a deep conversation about building a fence around the gazebo so that naked people could not attempt to scale it in the midst of their night terrors. Just before he left, Taylor came to stand over Lorelai and Rory. Lorelai assured him that they were taking his comments about the inn into careful consideration and that they'd already discussed several of his suggestions with the staff. Rory also told him that she had no plans to move to Europe permanently nor was she at all dissatisfied with Stars Hollow in any way. He talked at them for a few more moments before Luke came up behind him, brandishing the coffee pot.

"You done here, Taylor?" he asked. "I'm closing up pretty soon."

"It's early for you to be closing up, Luke. If you're going to be changing your hours of operation, you really should hang a sign out front or at the very least bring it up at the next town meeting," Taylor said.

"I'm not changing my hours of operation, Taylor. I am closing up early for the night."

"Why are you doing that?"

"To piss you off, Taylor," Luke said.

Lorelai and Rory struggled to suppress their laughter as Taylor turned on his heel and left the diner. Lorelai and Rory picked at their dinners as the rest of the dining crowd drifted out and the post-dinner lull began. Luke flipped his sign to closed and began shutting the blinds.

"So, why _are_ you closing early, Luke?" Lorelai asked, smiling into her coffee cup.

"Thought you two might like some privacy."

"How very thoughtful of you," she replied.

"Yeah, well," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "Rory, I made you a pie."

"You made me a pie? Luke, that's so nice! How did you know we'd be here?" Luke merely looked at her in response. "Of course you knew we'd be here," she nodded. "We're always here."

"And always welcome," he said, refilling her cup. He put a hand on her shoulder. "You'll be missed," he said gruffly.

"Thanks, Luke. Can I borrow your phone? I want to call Lane and have her come share the pie."

"Go for it," he said. He watched her walk towards the phone, his expression thoughtful.

Lorelai reached for his hand. "Hey," she said. She squeezed his fingers. "This whole flying under the radar thing is kinda fun."

He put the coffee pot on the table and took her hand in his, turning her palm upward, tracing its lines with the tip of his finger. "Just don't push it," he said, avoiding her eye.

"You want to look at me at some point this evening?" she asked. She tugged his hands. "Sit down for a minute."

"I shouldn't," he said, releasing her hand and reaching for the dishes.

"Luke, please?"

With a sigh, he sat in Rory's chair and looked at her expectantly. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you," she said, at length.

"Is that what you've been doing?" he asked. "Didn't notice."

"Hey, don't. I said I'm sorry."

Luke pressed the heels of his hand to his eyes and pulled of his baseball hat, running his fingers hard over his scalp. "Yeah, me too. I'm being a dick." He looked at her. "Don't even say it."

She grinned. "Dirty!" she whispered.

"So are we gonna have a conversation, or what?" he asked.

"You busy now?"

He began shifting again uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders and jiggling his knees. "No, but now it's going to be all uncomfortable because I know that we're going to talk about it. It's like talking about—" Abruptly, he stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What? Tell me!"

He took a breath. "It's like talking about sex before the sex happens and then all you can think about before is that you just talked about what you were going to do—"

"Well," Lorelai said, grinning. "That's really a whole other conversation."

"That's what I'm talking about," he said.

Lorelai took another sip of coffee and held her cup in front of her face, regarding him over the rim, so jumpy and unsettled. She was glad to realize the fluttering didn't dissipate even when they were—she searched for the right phrase—being them, she finally thought.

"All you said before was that we were going to have a conversation, and you didn't specify what kind of conversation, so who knows? We could talk about pie."

"Pie?"

"I love pie," she said.

He shoved himself back from the table, rolling his eyes. "Lots of work, Lorelai," he said. "I'll meet you upstairs in five minutes."

When Lane arrived, the three women sat together around the table. Luke brought the pie and deposited it in front of Rory with three forks, a knife, and three plates. Simultaneously, they all reached for the forks and dug directly into the pie.

"Oh, man," Luke groaned, "you're not even going to slice it up first?"

Rory grinned around a mouthful of pie. "Mixed berries," she said. "It's better this way."

Lane nodded emphatically. "Hear, hear," she said, brandishing her fork.

"I can't watch this," he said. "I'll be upstairs if you need anything."

Lorelai rose. "I actually needed to discuss some things about the Dragonfly with you, if you have a minute. Or twelve."

"Twelve?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Seems like a good number. Twelve," she said with relish.

"Come on up."

Lane and Rory sat chatting idly for a few moments, Lane telling Rory about the gig in Hartford Saturday that kept her from going to the test run. They were the last band of the night and there were all of nine people in the bar, drunk and waiting for taxis.

"It was still pretty awesome," she said.

"Lane, I have something to tell you," Rory said suddenly.

Lane looked up from her pie, her eyes wide. Rory's face was drained of color, and she was chewing on her lower lip. Lane lowered her fork. "This looks big."

"It is big," Rory said.

"Oh, my God. Are you going with Jess?"

Rory shook her head. "No, no, it's not that. It's—it's—"

"Rory?"

She took a breath, raised her eyes to meet Lane's. "I had sex."

Lane's jaw dropped. She found herself unable to speak for a full minute. "Oh, my God," she said again. "Oh, my God! You had sex?"

"With Dean."

"Oh, my _God._ You had sex with Dean? With _Dean?"_

"Yeah."

Lane stood and began to pace. "You had sex with Dean. You," she said, pointing, "had sex. You had sex with _Dean._ You had _sex_ with Dean? Oh, my God."

"You can say it as many times as you want, but it's still true," Rory said ruefully.

Lane slumped into the chair beside Rory. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"I mean, he's married."

"I know."

"Like, _married_, married."

"Yes, Long Duk Dong, he is," Rory said.

"Sheesh," Lane responded, smiling briefly.

The two friends were silent. Rory could hear the clock behind the counter ticking and tocking and Lane's rushed breathing. She had never been a fan of the cliché, but at this moment, she understood that cliché was what it was because it was true: she sincerely wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. That was the only thing she wanted at this moment; she didn't want to be anywhere but there, she didn't want to be home in her bed, she didn't want to take back what she had said, she simply wanted to stop existing, to be subsumed by the linoleum floor and to remain beneath the dirt of Stars Hollow. It seemed the better alternative to whatever was going on in the diner at that moment.

"So, are you okay?" Lane asked.

"I don't know. I feel awful: stupid and guilty and ashamed. I hate myself. How could I do that to someone? Why would I do that?"

Lane reached out her arm to drape it across Rory's shoulders, but she seemed to hesitate a second, allowing her arm to hover in the air just long enough that Rory knew she was considering taking it back. In the end, she allowed her arm to rest across her friend's shoulders. "Oh, Rory," she said. "That _sucks._"

And then Rory began to giggle. "Yeah," she said, her voice slightly hysterical. "It really sucks." The tears came hot and fast, so suddenly Rory shocked herself. "Do you hate me? Because I'd really like someone to hate me right now. I deserve it. Do you? Please?"

Lane drew Rory into a hug, resting her temple against Rory's. "I can't hate you! You're my best friend."

Rory drew a shuddering breath. "Are you sure? Because I'd understand—"

"Rory, I don't hate you. I think you're right, though. It was stupid," she said.

Rory sat up and wiped her face with the back of her hands. "I don't even know why I did it. I wasn't _thinking._"

"Is that why you're leaving?"

She nodded. "I have to go away for a while. I can't stand _feeling_ like this. And if I stay here, it's just going to get worse."

"I understand, I think. I'll miss you, though."

"I'll miss you, too." She paused. "Are you disappointed?"

"I'm your friend, not your mother," Lane said. "I just wish you had told me earlier. I could have helped more."

"No, you couldn't have. No one can," Rory said. "It's like I've got to rearrange the shelving system in my brain, you know?"

"I have no idea what that means," Lane deadpanned.

Rory sighed again, smiling sadly. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Being my friend," she said.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other, feeling the weight of the situation.

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Did it hurt?"

"Yeah." Rory took a sip of her mother's lukewarm coffee, relishing the bitterness of it as it washed over her tongue. "It hurt."

Lane reached for her fork again and shoveled a heaping bite of pie into her mouth. "This is really good pie," she said.

Rory followed suit, leaning over the table as she almost dropped a glob of berries in her lap. "I agree." She began to giggle again, with Lane chiming in, and the weight suddenly seemed less.

Upstairs, Lorelai stood in the center of Luke's apartment, her arms hanging loosely by her sides. She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself, standing here. Luke stood near the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his head tipped back, regarding her with a serious and cautious expression.

"So, pie is something, isn't it?" she began.

"Oh, come on," he said.

Mechanically, Lorelai reached back to tuck her hair behind her ears, her eyes searching the floor for something to focus on. "So you must have figured it out," she said.

"You want to tell me anyway?"

She gave him a wounded look. "And what would be the point of that, Luke? You already know. You've already got an opinion about it."

It was his turn to be wounded. Lorelai smacked her forehead with the flat of her palm, letting out a pissed, frustrated bellow. She dropped to the floor and put her face in her hands.

"I'm doing this all wrong," she said, her voice already tearful. She looked up at him. "You want to hear it, I'll tell you all about it," she began.

He left his spot by the door and made his way over to her, temporarily silencing her. He sat beside her, awkwardly arranging his limbs as best he could. "It might make you feel better," he said. "To, you know, talk about it."

She searched his face, trying to read what his reaction would be, gauging how badly this would go. He was only watching her, waiting for her to speak. She drew her knees to her chest and clasped her hands at her shins. "So, Rory and Dean slept together the other night," she began, as though she were telling a story that would end with an explanation for such a start. "He's married, and they had sex anyway. I didn't see it coming, and I don't know why they did it, and Rory feels terrible, and I feel terrible, and I behaved like an angry mommy when I found out and like an angry teenager when I saw Dean again, and now Rory's running to Europe with my mom because she's shattered whatever self-image she had before it all happened and thinks she's this whole other person now, and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do." Her eyes welled up, and she wiped her nose with her wrist, cursing softly. "Fuck."

"Ah, crap," Luke said. "I was hoping it wouldn't be that."

"You and me both, mister," Lorelai said half-heartedly. "I just—I don't—what did I do? Where did I go wrong that this happened? How did I not see this coming?"

"Lorelai, this isn't your fault."

"Oh, I know I didn't have a hand in the whole thing—rationally, I know that I didn't hand him the condom and point him towards her bedroom, saying, 'here! Have fun deflowering my only child! Don't forget to take off your wedding ring! Wouldn't want any nasty reminders of that sacred vow hanging over your head while you're getting it on with my daughter! Rory! Don't forget to breathe!'" She waved her hands as she spoke, her voice choked with tears and anger. "I just—shouldn't I have been able to do something to stop it? I thought I knew my daughter better than that, that Rory and I had a relationship where I would _know_ when something like this is going to happen, but clearly, I was mistaken."

"Is that what you're upset about?" Luke asked gently.

Lorelai jumped slightly at the touch of his hand at the base of her neck, the slight, reassuring pressure as he kneaded her skin. "Yes," she said. "No—yes and no. I'm mad at myself, I'm ready to kill Dean, and I don't know what to do to make this better for Rory. She can't look in the mirror, she can't sleep in her own bed—she's like this pod-Rory who walks and talks and eats like Rory but isn't really Rory because she's so disgusted by what she did."

"You can't make that better," Luke said. "What she did was wrong. It just was. And Rory doesn't mess up all that much, so this is new territory for her."

"And this isn't anything I haven't already told myself," Lorelai said. "I'm sorry for freezing you out, I just—after the other day, when I thought you knew, I didn't know what to say. I saw the whole thing from your perspective, and it was horrible." She looked at him, but his face was impassive. "God, this is all just so unfair. Rory was supposed to have this amazing first time, like that girl said in _Sixteen Candles_, doing it on a cloud with some amazing guy. You and I were supposed to—" She stopped. Suddenly the look on his face was as open as she'd ever seen: fearfully and painfully hopeful. "I don't know what was supposed to happen with you and me, but it isn't me avoiding you because my daughter's turned into the Sock Man."

The beautiful look on his face was fleeting, dissolving into bewilderment. "The Sock Man?"

"Nicole's Sock Man. Rory is the Sock Man," she said again.

Luke's mouth opened and closed several times as realization of what she meant dawned and he struggled to find something to say. "No, Lorelai, don't say that. The situation is entirely different," he said.

"But it isn't!" she insisted. "It isn't! Dean—Nicole—is married to Lindsay—who is you—and he sleeps with someone who is not Lindsay, Rory, who is in this whole scenario, the Sock Man."

"And that's why you didn't bring this up," he said. "This is why you didn't tell me right away."

"I didn't want to bring all that up," she said. "But here I am, bringing it all up."

"What, you didn't want to hurt my feelings?"

"That was the general idea," she said.

He sighed. "I'm sorry you couldn't come to me because of that. If I'm taking anyone's side on this, you know it's going to be Rory's. Dean's a shithead kid, and he's always going to be a shithead kid as far as I'm concerned. The Sock Man thing with Nicole—that marriage was already over. I wasn't emotionally committed to that, I knew it, Nicole knew it: the whole Sock Man thing was inevitable."

"Does that make it right, then? She was unhappy, so it's okay to jump in bed with someone else?"

"We're not talking about me," Luke said.

Lorelai bit her lip and swallowed a retort. After a moment, she inched herself closer to him. "I wanted to tell you. I just didn't want to open up this gaping would for you, remind you of what had happened to you."

"There's no gaping wound," he said.

She looked at him. "Luke."

He averted his eyes. "There was a slight wound, maybe," he said. "But I don't know what I was expecting—what Dean was expecting. You can't marry one person because you think you've shot any chance with the one you really want all to hell. Regardless of how pointless you think your feelings for one woman are, you can't just redirect them to someone else because you want to. It doesn't work like that." As he spoke, his voice rose and the words came more quickly. Lorelai laid her hand on his arm. "It doesn't work like that."

"Okay," she said. "Okay." She waited for his breathing to slow again, for the flush to recede from his cheeks. "Do you know something about Dean I don't?"

For a moment, he looked caught. "I just know that he wasn't really over Rory when he married Lindsay. He never got her out of his system."

"What makes you say that?"

"Let's just say I know."

"How do you know?"

"I know, okay?"

Lorelai closed her eyes and nodded. "I have a feeling I don't really want to know how you know, anyway," she said. "I just hope this trip displaces pod-Rory and we get real, live Rory back. It hurts me that she's like this."

"She'll be okay."

"You think?"

He put his arm around her. "I know." She smiled gratefully at him. "And Dean will either grow a pair and do the right thing by Lindsay or he'll continue be a shitheaded, dickless wimp, but you can't control that. Neither can Rory. And much as I hate to say it, I sort of feel for the guy."

_"What?"_

Luke shrugged. "I know what it's like to be caught by a Lorelai Gilmore," he said simply.

Lorelai leaned her head on his shoulder. "Maybe I'm the shitheaded, dickless wonder." She paused, the words ringing in her ears. "Can we pretend I didn't just say that."

"Gladly."

"It's just so unfair," she said again, "all of it."

"In the words of Denis Leary: 'life sucks. Get a fucking helmet.'"

Lorelai looked up, an amused expression on her face. "Denis Leary?"

"I'm a fan."

"Oh, _really?"_

"What?"

"I just never figured you for a comedy guy," Lorelai said.

"There's a lot about me you don't know," he said.

She tilted her head back and considered this, studying his face. "I know enough," she said.

"Do you?"

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't worry. We're good."

"Come over Friday?"

"Try and stop me," he said.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," she told him.

She leaned forward and kissed him with everything she was feeling, the confusion and pain and nervousness and the hesitant joy that had been fluttering at her ribcage. After a few moments, she pulled back, startled at the intensity of the kiss. She blinked rapidly, aware that he was watching her, evaluating her reaction as he tried to calm his breathing, still the rapidity of his heartbeat.

"So," she said, attempting a light tone, "that was some good pie talk."

In one fluid movement, Luke hauled them both to their feet and pulled Lorelai to him, kissing her. She clung to him, knowing that without his arms to hold her up, she would sink right where she was. Again, she broke the kiss, breathless.

"Did I mention how much I like pie?" she said.

"Do you ever take anything seriously?"

Lorelai smiled. "Rarely," she said, "and hardly even then." She put a hand to his face. "You're amazing," she said.

"Likewise."

"I should get going—I've got an assload of things to do at the Inn tomorrow before I help Rory pack, and then Lane and Sookie are coming over for dinner…"

"Got it."

She kissed him lightly, and hugged him for a long moment. "I'll see you Friday," she said. She stopped at the door and looked over her shoulder. "Scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad was the breath?"

Luke grinned. "Fifteen."

Lorelai nodded in approval. "Just what I was going for."

She and Rory said their goodbyes to Lane, who gave Rory a long, bone-crushing hug before letting her go; the Lorelais then walked home in silence, arm-in-arm, each lost in her own thoughts.


	8. Interlude: Thursday

Thursday—Interlude

Luke found himself suddenly awake at three AM. He lay in bed, blinking rapidly, trying to figure out why exactly he was no longer sleeping when the phone began to ring.

He answered before the first ring ended. "Hi."

Lorelai's voice was petulant. "How'd you know it was me?"

"It's three in the morning, Lorelai. Who else would it be?" He paused. "Where are you?"

"Outside."

He rose and went to the window. "What the hell are you doing outside?"

"Waiting for you to let me in."

"I'll be down in half a minute."

"Hey, if you're naked and getting dressed is going to slow you down, don't mind me. Just go on with the naked."

"I'm hanging up now," he growled.

She was hopping from one foot to the other on the front steps, hugging a short terry cloth robe about her. Her hair was off her face in a loose, high ponytail, and her face was pink with cold. She smiled as he peeked around the door, her eyes bright with sleeplessness. He shook his head as he let her in, taking in the thin cotton shorts and the flip flops she wore.

"You know, it's a good rule of thumb to get dressed before you go out in the cold in the middle of the night," he said dryly.

"Says you," she said, gesturing at his attire of boxers and a thin, worn undershirt with a hole in the shoulder.

He adopted a posture familiar to Lorelai, his hands on his hips, his head down as he contemplated the floor. It signaled extreme irritation. She was relieved to see the chagrined, tolerant smile on his face when he looked up. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked.

Lorelai seated herself on a stool at the counter. "I wanted to see you," she said.

"Something wrong?"

She rolled her eyes. "Does something have to be wrong for me to want to see you?"

"I'm serious," he said.

"So am I. Nothing's wrong. I couldn't sleep and Rory was dead to the world, and I sat there thinking, gee, I would really like some company right now, who in the _world_ can I get to sit up with me who will want to kill me but would only look daggers instead of actually throw them? Why, Luke, of course!"

"And?"

She looked up at him through her lashes. "And I'm hungry."

He rounded the counter, shaking his head. "What'll you have?" he asked wearily.

"Grilled cheese and tomato?" she said tentatively.

"All right. You owe me."

"Many times over," she replied.

"Come into the kitchen, I'll get one going for you," he said.

She leaned forward, her elbows on the counter, her chin in her hands. "I prefer to stay on this side. I like the food to appear as though from nowhere," she said.

He disappeared into the kitchen and Lorelai spent the moments he was gone mentally rearranging the configuration of room twelve, flipping the bed to the opposite side so that the sun didn't directly hit the pillows so early in the morning; she then tried to decide if the house staff she'd enlisted for opening day were really prepared or if she should have another drill in the morning… she sighed. It was much more entertaining to imagine the last five minutes starring a shirtless Luke, answering the door in just the boxers, after which point the conversation that followed was radically different. She was giggling when he returned from the kitchen, carrying a plate and a glass of milk.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she grinned. "What's that?" she asked, pointing.

"Warm milk."

"Ew," she said.

"You'll love it," he said.

"Yeah, if by love you mean _hate._"

"Eat."

She obliged, taking a large bite, chewing, and swallowing theatrically. She wiped her mouth primly with a napkin and crumpled it in her hand. She then raised herself off her seat and leaned over the counter, kissing him briefly. "Hi," she said and kissed him again.

"Hi," he said.

They chatted idly about the inn and the last minute details of Rory's trip with Emily, keeping the conversation light. Lorelai could feel herself relax, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she rattled on about inane details. She paused a moment to pick at her sandwich and looked up to see Luke shifting back and forth on his feet, his expression suddenly pissed.

"Hey," Lorelai said, "what's wrong?"

Luke stuttered a moment, before he replied. "Nothing."

"Luke."

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with you, nothing's wrong with me," he said.

She sat back. "Fine."

"Fine."

They were silent as Lorelai finished her sandwich. She pushed the plate away and stared at the milk glass. "Are you really going to make me drink that?"

Luke, too, looked at the glass of milk a long moment. He placed his hands flat on the counter and turned his gaze to Lorelai, the look in his eyes intense. "What's going on here?"

Lorelai sat, her mouth open. "Uh—I'm having a post-midnight snack?"

"No," he said, pushing himself away from the counter, growling in frustration. "I mean this, this thing with us. What are we—are we together, are we casual friends with benefits—I just—crap," he said. He looked at Lorelai, sheepish. "I have no idea where that came from."

She slouched, running one finger around the rim of the glass. "It's been a weird week, with everything happening and stuff. But really, what's changed? I've gotten upset and cried on your shoulder, we've fought, made up, I've annoyed you… the only thing that's really different is the kissing. And the dating part," she added, as an afterthought.

The disappointment in his voice as he spoke turned the food she'd just eaten directly to acid in her stomach. "Oh. So that's what's happened," he said. "That's what this has been."

"That came out wrong," she said, getting to her feet.

He turned to face her, his face a mess of emotions—hurt, frustration, irritation. "Make it come out right, then!" he said.

"I just meant that I know where that came from," she said, edging around the counter towards him. "I get it. And it's confusing."

"So you're confused. Great. That's just great. Because I'm not. I'm not confused at all, not about what I want," he said.

"Boy, I'm on a roll tonight," Lorelai sighed. "That's not what I meant either. I just meant the whole situation—it's like it's all new but at the same time it's not new at all." She stopped and rubbed her eyes. He was watching her, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders back. She chewed her lip, thinking, trying to choose her words. "We could never be casual, Luke," she said. "Whatever this relationship is—"

"Well, what kind of relationship is it, Lorelai? Do we have a relationship or are we in one?"

"You want to explain the distinction, Mr. Clinton?"

"Being in a relationship with someone is entirely different from having one," he said. "And you know that—we've had a relationship for years now: we've been friends or we haven't been friends, I give you coffee and we yell at each other, and—" He stopped, took a breath, looked her in the eye. "Now? I think we're in one, I think we're in a relationship _together,_ that we're in the same place and we want the same things—I just need to know you think the same thing, too."

She was giving him that look again, that same look she gave him Saturday at the Dragonfly when he went off about Jason. He realized this was the same conversation they'd had then, and he was just as uncertain about what would happen next as he was that night. He let her put her arms around his neck, circled her waist with his, and drew her so close he could feel her heart beat against his chest. She pressed her cheek to his; the sensation of her eyelashes brushing his skin as she blinked, the lightest touch he'd ever felt, caused him to tighten his hold on her, his breath caught in his throat.

"I think you're getting the raw end of the deal, here," she said. "But I'm in. I swear," she said. "And I'll be better."

He pulled back slightly. She watched him search her face with more emotion in his own than he knew what to do with. He reached up and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Just be Lorelai," he said, and kissed her.

She smiled then. "That I can do," she said. She kissed him again, and yawned.

"Am I boring you?" he asked, smiling wryly.

She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder. "Sorry. I'm sleepy."

He drew back and took her hand, leading her back towards the door. "I'll walk you home," he said.

"You don't have to do that," she said. "I made it here before in the dark."

"Don't argue with me," he said sternly.

"You just told me to be Lorelai, now you're telling me not to argue," she said. "What's with the mixed messages, dude?"

"One, don't call me dude," he said. "And two, shut up."

Lorelai opened her mouth to speak again and he placed his hand firmly over her lips. "I'm going to run upstairs and put on shoes and some pants, and then I am walking you home. No arguments." He took his hand away and she bit her lips together, nodding innocently.

When he reached the stairs, she called his name. "I could do without the pants, you know," she said, grinning.

He rolled his eyes and disappeared up the stairs, returning moments later in his complete uniform with the flannel and the hat and the jeans. "This is what you get for teasing," he said.

"I'll take it, mister," she said, slipping her hand in his as he lead her out.

"Glad to hear it."

They walked down the main street away from town, Lorelai swinging their joined hands lightly. "You realize," she said, after a moment, "that tomorrow I'm going to severely mock you for the whole 'are we in a relationship or having one,' semantic argument?"

"I wouldn't have expected anything less," he replied.

"Good. As long as we understand each other."

"I think we do," Lorelai said.

"Then we're on the same page."

She smirked at him. "You really need some new metaphors," she said.

"The silence, just now? That was good."

Lorelai only smiled in reply.

Next: Friday night.


	9. Friday Morning and Afternoon

Friday

When the alarm went off at seven, Lorelai woke up in a tangle of limbs, with Rory passed out beside her and Lane halfway falling off the foot of the bed. She groaned as she silenced the purring, fuzzy alarm clock before extricating herself from the odd triangle they formed. She eased Lane back onto the bed, shushing the young girl gently when she lifted her head, her eyes closed, to mumble something about protecting the Foo Fighters from cheese. Lorelai grabbed some (mostly) clean clothes off the floor on her way out of the room.

Immediately, she slumped to the floor and sat at the top of the stairs, her elbows on her knees and her forehead against her arms. She felt nauseous and ashamed as her mind cleared and she remembered the orgy of food from the night before, a marathon of all-American themed cuisine provided courtesy of Sookie—American chop suey, fried chicken, fried _vegetables,_ clam chowder, cornbread, apple pie. Lorelai clutched her stomach, groaning; it was altogether an ill-advised endeavor, she thought.

For a split second, she thought about forgoing coffee and coddling her injured stomach before deciding against it. She changed her clothes in the laundry room as she waited for the coffee to perk, fishing a fresh pair of underwear out of the dryer and smelling her tee shirt for freshness before she did. After pouring the coffee, locating her shoes, and leaving a note for Rory and Lane on the table, she head towards the inn on foot.

It was when she reached the top of the drive to the Dragonfly that it was confirmed the day was only going to get successively weirder, as she was met with the unmistakable smell of manure and a pissy Michel waiting for her on the front steps.

"It is those horses," he told her. "They do not know to go only in the paddock."

"Oh, Michel, I do not need this now! I'm not showered and I have a food hangover!"

"I was not the one who brought those filthy animals into the business," he said.

The only thing she could think to do in response was chug her coffee and walk away.

The next seven and a half hours were an excruciating exercise in futility. She couldn't talk sense to Cletus and Desdemona, who largely ignored her pleas for cleanliness and consideration, nor would their caretaker give Lorelai any indication that it was possible to train horses to go in a box like cats. Her staff suddenly could not remember the simplest of instructions, Sookie was in a panic about the herb garden out back, and on top of everything else, not only was Emily calling every hour on the hour, Lorelai's father called as well.

Michel handed her the phone with a snarl. "I refuse to answer the phone if you insist on turning it into your personal line," he said, turning on his heel and stalking away.

Though she had never smoked, for a brief moment Lorelai had the overwhelming urge for a cigarette. Something, anything, she thought, to keep her from snapping.

"This is Lorelai," she sing-songed, pinching the bridge of her nose, dreading yet another barrage of questions from Emily.

"Lorelai, this is your father."

"Oh. Dad. Hi."

"I'm calling to inform you that I will be away for several days on business. I have to meet with some very important clients in Philadelphia," he told her.

"Philadelphia, huh? Steak and cheese," she said. "Liberty Bell." She paused. "When are you leaving?"

"Another hour or so. I also wanted to tell you that you should not feel obliged to keep to the Friday dinner arrangement while your mother and Rory are gone."

Lorelai dropped the pen she was holding and stood still a moment, unsure of how to answer him. "Oh," she said, at length. "Well. Ah, okay, I guess."

"Fine, then. I'll speak to you soon," he said.

"Dad, wait," she said, quickly.

"Yes?"

She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes before speaking. One of the kitchen staff walking past saw her squinting with her entire face and thought she looked like someone anticipating a shot in the arm with a very long, thick needle.

"You never really got to see the inn properly last week—"

"That is very true," he said, his voice flat.

"I'd like to correct that. Would you—would you like to come to dinner the opening night? I don't know if you'll be around then: it's a week from tomorrow, but I'd love it if you could come. Please," she added. "Dad?"

"This isn't an 'I'd love it if you could come' sort of invitation like the last, is it? No tricks, traps, no Jason springing from the corner ready to attack me for ruining his livelihood?" Richard asked.

_Unbelievable,_ she thought. "No, Dad this is nothing like that. I just thought it would be nice if you could be here, so you could have a nice meal, and you wouldn't have to eat alone," she said.

After a pause, he replied that it did indeed sound like a fine idea and he would be happy to come.

"Good. Thanks, Dad. I look forward to seeing you," she said. "Have a safe trip. And call me when you get back."

When she hung up, she jumped to see Sookie standing at her elbow. "God, Sookie. You're lucky I'm not armed, I could have accidentally cut your head off."

Sookie giggled. "Jackson's coming over to take a look at the garden. He thinks I over-watered it. Who was that on the phone?"

"My dad."

"Did you just ask your dad to call you? Really?"

Lorelai shrugged. "My mom's going away. I guess I didn't want him to be lonely." She stood up straight, then, and realized what she had just said. "Who would have thought that I would actively try to cultivate a relationship with my parents? It's like the universe has turned upside down—my mother is jetting to Europe to get away from my father, I'm actually conversing civilly with both my parents, willingly, my child is leaving the country, and I'm dating Luke. Next thing you know, Harvey Fierstein will go on Ellen and tell the world that he's been mistaken all these years, he's really straight, they'll make out, and then Bono will show up, whip off his sunglasses, and announce that he hates orphans and starving people, after which Russell Crowe will enter from stage left and declare he's given up making movies to become a Buddhist monk." She looked at Sookie. "I'm really wishing now I hadn't said the whole thing about Harvey and Ellen, because that image is now permanently emblazoned in my mind. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Did you just say you're dating _Luke?_"

Lorelai covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide. "Shit. I did," she said. She grabbed Sookie's hand and dragged her to the hallway behind the stairs. "So," she said, "here's the thing: Luke and I are dating. Or more than dating, something, I don't know. It's a relationship-type-thing." Her words were coming out stilted, disconnected—she felt like a chattering monkey.

Sookie stood before her, her mouth opening and closing, no sound escaping her, until, after a moment, she began giggling shrilly. "You're dating Luke! You're in a relationship-type-thing with Luke!" She took Lorelai's hands in her own again and squeezed them tightly. "You're with Luke! That is such good news!" She stopped suddenly and lowered her voice. "How's the sex?"

Lorelai's mouth fell open. _"Sookie!"_

"Come on, don't leave me hanging!" Sookie cried. "And don't tell me you haven't done it yet."

"We haven't done it yet!"

"Seriously, Lorelai? I figured the minute you guys got together you'd be at it like rabid dogs. Although," she said, tipping her head to the side, "why rabid dogs would be going at it, I don't really understand."

"Oh, my God, Sookie, what do you think we are, like Pam and Tommy or something? We've only been seeing each other a week—not even a week, six days! And if you don't count the days I wasn't speaking to him, it's really only four days."

"You've been dating a week and you've already stopped speaking to him once? You've been dating a week and you didn't _tell_ me?"

Lorelai softened. "I'm sorry, honey, it's just been a hectic week with Rory leaving and my parents…" She sighed. "We're not telling anyone yet, either. We want to sort of keep it to ourselves as long as we can."

Sookie nodded sympathetically before once again busting into giggles. "You're dating Luke! I'm so happy for you!"

"Have you really been expecting this?"

"God, _forever._ The whole town has. You guys are like, the Hepburn and Tracey of Stars Hollow. Without the whole married Catholic possibly violent alcoholic thing."

"Well, yeah, without that," Lorelai joked. "Seriously?"

Sookie rolled her eyes. "Come on, honey, you knew that."

"I guess I did."

"So you really haven't slept with him?"

"Sookie!"

"When it happens, I want _details_," Sookie said, poking Lorelai in the side.

At a quarter to three, Lorelai headed for home, half-jogging to reach the house in time. She slammed through the front door, shouting that the pipes in the honeymoon suite had burst a half an hour ago and that not only was she late, she thought she was going to kill someone.

"Mom," she said, stopping short in the living room. "You're here."

"Yes," Emily said.

"You're early."

"Well, we are about to leave for _Europe_, Lorelai, and international travel requires a bit more attention to timing than a coffee run into town."

_And I thought things were going so well._ She sighed. "So nice to see you, Mom. Is Rory around?"

"Upstairs."

Lorelai found Rory sitting in the center of the big double bed, scribbling a note furiously on a sheet of Jem and the Holograms stationary Lorelai kept on her bedside table. "Hey, babe, sorry I'm late," she said, flopping onto the bed. "You aren't writing me a Dear, Lorelai letter, are you?"

Rory smiled, relieved. "I wasn't sure you were going to make it. Grandma has the car making circles around the neighborhood."

"I'm sure that's going well. And you know I wouldn't miss saying goodbye to you," Lorelai said. "God, I have to say goodbye to you." She pushed the hair off Rory's face. "I love you so much, babe. I'm going to miss you. _Horribly._"

Rory's eyes filled. "I love you, too," she said. "And me, too, horribly."

With a sad smile, Lorelai kissed her daughter's cheek. "That makes sense," she said. "No crying, okay, because then I'll cry and you'll cry harder and then Grandma will have to come up and she'll cry and I don't need to see that."

Rory threw her arms around Lorelai and buried her face in her mother's neck. "Thank you," she said.

"What for, babe?"

"For pretending to be okay with me going, and for being nice about the whole Dean thing, even though I know you're disappointed, and for making this such an easy, good week, and for being my best friend and the best mom in the world, and—"

"I'm glad you added that thing about me being the best mom part, because before that I was sounding quite two-faced," Lorelai said.

"Mom," Rory began.

"I know, hon. I know. Come on, we should get you settled in the car."

They said their final goodbyes on the porch. Emily gave Lorelai a tight, motherly hug, accompanied by a "Goodbye, Lorelai. We'll call you at the first opportunity. Take care of yourself." Rory and Lorelai shared a long embrace; Lorelai whispered a thanks to Rory for taking leave of Babette and Miss Patty and the others earlier in the day, that they might have this moment to themselves. With a last "I love you," Rory and her grandmother slid into the car and left.

Lorelai went back into her empty house, sat on the floor of her living room, and wept. As she struggled to regain her composure, she silently prayed that her daughter would come back less broken than she left, that she would be able to face herself again, that the bitter disappointment she had for herself would be resolved. Lorelai wiped her face and looked around the living room, muttering that it was really a tall order, but that she was sure she had been good, most of the time.


	10. Friday Night

Friday Night

Luke arrived at six. He knocked several times on the front door before letting himself in. He wandered to the kitchen, following the series of banging and clashing noises coming from that direction. He found Lorelai kneeling on the floor, her head in the oven.

"Lorelai!" he bellowed. "_Lorelai!_ _What_ are you _doing?"_

She backed out of the oven and looked up at him, her face red with exertion. "Relax, Daddy," she said, "I'm not pulling a Sylvia Plath. I'm looking for the lid to my saucepan."

"Don't call me Daddy," he said.

"It's a reference."

"Still. Don't call me Daddy. Ever."

She grinned at him. "Sure, Big Poppa."

"No," he said.

"Whatever you say, boo."

"No."

"Lovah?"

"No."

"Thor?" He cocked an eyebrow at this, and she shrugged. "I'm reaching," she said.

"Clearly," he told her, helping her to her feet. "Why would the lid to your saucepan be in the oven?"

"Rory and I were keeping the pots and pans in the oven to use the cabinet we keep them in for bread and candy."

"Why?"

"The mouse was eating the bread when we left it out," Lorelai said, stooping to retrieve the pan she needed from the floor.

"You have mice?"

"No," Lorelai said. "We have a mouse. We call him Machizedak."

"I'll set a trap."

"See, this is why we didn't tell you," she said.

"You have one mouse, you've got other mice. It's unsanitary," he told her. "I'll set some traps."

"How did we go from a trap to some traps?" she demanded. "And none of those sticky traps, or the snappy ones that break their necks. Get those heart ones."

"The heart ones don't work—would you let me take care of it?"

"I don't want to see the carcasses," Lorelai said.

"I will _take care of it,_" he said.

She leaned forward for a kiss. "As long as you're the one removing the bodies, not me. That way I don't have to feel guilty about the untimely death of Malchizedak. He's really quite thoughtful."

"He's a mouse, Lorelai."

"Say it ain't so!"

He ignored this and took the pan from her hand. "What are you making?"

"Sookie gave me sauce with like, stuff in it. Veggies and meat and stuff. I think she feels sorry for me because I'm suddenly an orphan. She said to serve it with penne rigatta, but all we have are macaroni elbows. I thought I would cook for you," she said, "or at least, reheat for you."

"That's very considerate of you," he said. "Get out of the kitchen. I'll do it."

"I can cook, you know," she said defensively.

"I'm sure you can. Get out of the kitchen." She stood, her hands on her hips. "Please," he said.

"Did you get movies?" she asked, calling from the living room. He heard a gleeful shout and she ran back to the kitchen, clutching the rentals in her hands. "Okay, first of all, bonus points for _This Is Spinal Tap,"_ she said.

"I thought you'd like that." He chuckled, murmuring, "but it goes up to eleven!"

"And _The Rundown?_ With The Rock? I cannot wait." She turned the box over in her hand. "Can you smell what The Luke is cooking?" she roared, and began giggling. "The Luke is the most electrifying man in the Diner Business!"

They ate in front of the TV, balancing bowls of pasta on their knees. Luke soon found it was not a good idea to attempt any kind of physical contact when watching an action movie with Lorelai, as she was too likely to punch the air, clap her hands, or kick out from the couch without warning. After the final scene of _The Rundown,_ she turned to him with a glowing face.

"That? Was ridiculously awesome. I love that movie. I want to watch it every day for the rest of my _life._ I want to marry it and have its babies," she said. "Awful movies are so great. It was totally worth it, just to see The Rock kick that tiny guy's ass. And for the whole Christopher Walken tooth fairy speech. And Christopher Walken saying 'oompah loompah.' And that one scene with the humping monkey." Without waiting for him to answer, she kissed him briefly and bounded off the couch for the kitchen. "I think I have some ice cream. Who am I kidding? Of _course_ I have some ice cream."

"I brought pie," he called after her.

She peered around the corner. "I believe those are the magic words," she said. "And also: shame on you for holding out on me. If I had known that, I would have skipped the whole pasta thing entirely."

"I know," he said, reaching behind the couch for the box he'd brought with him. He placed it on the coffee table and lifted the lid, procuring two forks from inside. Lorelai peered down and gasped.

"Luke! You made me a _pudding_ pie! It's like—that's heaven in a box right there! No two more perfect desserts exist in the universe and here you've put them together: it's like an uber-dessert!"

He handed her a fork. "Dig in," he said.

"No plates?" she asked, grinning slyly.

"This is a one-time offer," he told her.

She took both forks from him and sat on his lap, looping her arms around his neck. He put his about her waist, settling his hands just above the waistband of his jeans, absently kneading her skin gently with the tips of his fingers. She leaned towards him and kissed him a long moment, cradling his head in her hands.

"Thanks," she finally said.

He looked at her questioningly, his eyes seeming slightly dazed. "For the pie?"

She shook her head. "For knowing what to do. For making me feel better," she said. "Well, and for the pie," she added. "Pie never hurts."

A half an hour later, she put her fork down and rubbed her stomach with one hand. "I lied. Sometimes, pie hurts."

Luke laughed and lay back on the couch, pulling her down with him. They watched the second movie together, Lorelai's head on his chest, his arm around her. He made her rewind the Stonehenge scene three times.

"It never stops being funny," he said.

"Because of the little stone and the little people and the dancing," she said.

"In a nutshell, yes."

Lorelai yawned as the credits rolled. She sat up, raking her hands through her hair. "I started the day with a food hangover, you know. Tomorrow ain't going to be any different." She rubbed her eyes sleepily. "God, I'm exhausted."

"You do look like you could use some sleep," Luke said, sitting up as well.

"That's one way to tell a girl she's the prettiest one in the room," she retorted.

"Well, that's a given," he said. He rose. "I should go."

Lorelai's face fell. "Go? Home?"

"No, Lorelai, to my other girlfriend's house," he said.

A slow smile spread over her face. "Okay, first of all, not funny, but second of all, you just called me your girlfriend," she said. "That is so cute."

"Don't say cute," he said.

"Sure, Daddy." She rose and moved to kiss him, but he dodged. "What's with the moves there, Lucky?"

"I can't kiss you after you call me Daddy," he said. "This is what I'm trying to avoid."

She laughed. "Okay, _Luke._ Noted. Now, come here." After a moment, she pulled back. "I don't think that's ever going to get old," she said. "Why don't you stay tonight?"

He stepped back and raised his hands. "I, ah—that is, I'm not—don't you think it's a little soon? For, you know, _that?"_

She blinked innocently. "For what, Luke?"

He swallowed thickly. "You know."

"Uh-uh."

"You know," he said, and lowered his voice, "the sex."

Lorelai put her hands on her hips. "Well, we can't do it now anyway, now that you've brought it up. It totally kills the moment, makes it all awkward," she teased.

"Lorelai," he said.

"That wasn't what I was getting at, anyway," she said.

"It's not?"

"See, you can't sound disappointed after being freaked out," she began.

He stopped her, "I wasn't freaked out."

"Oh, you were freaked out, buddy."

"I wasn't."

"Freaked. Out!" She threw up her hands in imitation of him, speaking next in a husky voice. "Oh, uh, I, uh, it's, uh, it's a little soon, for, uh, that sex thing," she rumbled.

"That is not how I sound," he countered.

"That's how you sounded just now," she said.

"It is not."

She sighed. "Fine. I was just wondering if maybe you'd want to crash here. Sleeping _only,"_ she said. She looked at him. "I'd really like it if you could stay."

Luke studied her a long moment. "You need me to stay, I'll stay."

"Good. Okay, then. I'm going to get changed. There are extra toothbrushes under the sink." Off his look, she explained that she and Rory had dropped their own too many times not to prepare for it.

"I'll meet you up there," he said. "I'm just going to take care of these dishes."

"Luke, leave them, it's fine."

He shook his head silently, gathering up the remains of their dinner. She watched him walk to the kitchen before turning to run upstairs and choose adequately sexy but not suggestive pajamas. She wished Rory were home and immediately unwished it: not only was it wildly inappropriate, it only served to remind her that Rory _wasn't_ home. She selected thin cotton bottoms and a tank with the word "coffee" on the front and on the back, "it's not just for breakfast anymore." She waited until she heard Luke finishing up in the bathroom to open her door and peek into the hallway.

He stood uncertainly, hovering outside the bathroom, one hand on the top of his baseball hat, as though he were afraid she would try to remove it. He gestured to the bathroom, saying, "it's all yours." She sidled past him and told him she'd be done in a moment. She took longer than necessary to brush her teeth and hair, to wash her face and apply moisturizer. When she could dawdle no longer, she looked her reflection hard in the eye, took a breath, and returned to the bedroom.

Luke sat on the bed, hatless, purged of flannel, still in his tee shirt and jeans, his sneakers unlaced. Lorelai leaned against the doorframe, smiling softly.

"You know," she began, "I know that the jeans aren't really attached as some sort of second skin."

"Could you not watch me do this, please?" he asked.

She shrugged in reply and made walking to the other side of the bed an elaborate journey, circumventing the piles of laundry that had accumulated on her floor during Rory's stay. She wriggled under the covers and turned on her side, curling her knees to her chest. After a moment, he rose, heaving a sigh.

"Luke, if you'd rather go home—if this is too uncomfortable for you," Lorelai said, "it's—it's fine."

He threw back the covers and slid in, remaining on the far side of the bed, not touching her. "It's a little late for that," he said darkly.

She reached out and turned off the lamp on her bedside table before rolling over to face him. She could see his profile in the dark. He was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, with the covers pulled up over his chest and his hands folded on his stomach. She bit back a grin and inched her hand across the mattress to tap him on the elbow.

"Hey, stranger," she said. "Who said you could share my bed?"

He only grunted in response.

Lorelai slowly wiggled her way across the bed and came to rest her chin on his arm. "Wanna hear a joke?" she asked.

"A joke?"

"A rope walks into a bar and asks for a drink. The bartender says he can't serve him because he's a rope, so he leaves and ties his hair up, messing it at the end. He comes back into the bar a few minutes later and asks for a drink. The bartender says, 'aren't you the rope I turned down a minute ago?' and the rope tells him, 'no, I'm a frayed knot.'"

Luke snorted and laughed. "That's a terrible joke," he told her after a moment.

"I've got a million of them," she said.

She heard him draw a long breath and watched his chest rise and fall slowly. As he exhaled, he lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders, edging closer. She shifted to give him more room and lifted her head, resting her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder.

"Now, is this so bad?" she asked.

"Nah," he said. "You fit pretty good."

He felt her smile against his skin. "Nice pillow talk," she said. She draped her arm over his stomach and settled in. "Actually, you fit pretty good, too," she said.

"What did Sookie say when you told her?" he asked.

"I didn't tell Sookie," she replied.

"What did Sookie say when you told her?"

"You don't want to know."

"Sure I do."

"Something about Hepburn and Tracey and," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "_sex._" She felt him tense a little.

"Yeah, I really didn't need to know that," he said.

"She was happy for us."

"Good. Good."

Lorelai stifled a yawn. "You know, you'd think you'd come home at night smelling like fries and oil and stuff, but—"

"Lorelai? Don't take this the wrong way—"

"That's a great opening," she said.

"—but shut up and go to sleep."

She squeezed his ribcage a little. "Okay. Goodnight," she said. She lifted her head. "Did I thank you for staying?"

"She'll be home soon."

Lorelai was silent a moment. "That's not the only reason I'm glad you're staying," she said.

"I know."

"Okay. Goodnight, Luke."

"Goodnight, Lorelai."

"Night, John Boy," she said.

"Ah, geez."

"Oh, and by the way?"

"Yes?"

"Don't wake me up before you go-go. Just call me angel in the morning, baby. Just touch my cheek before you leave me," she said.

"Goodnight, Lorelai."

"Although, I _might_ beg you to stay—"

"Good_night,_ Lorelai."

"—with me." She leaned up and kissed him softly. "Night."

He closed his eyes.

"Daddy."

"You just had to do it," he said.

"Goodnight, Luke."

"Right. Now it's goodnight."

"It really is," she said.


	11. In Transit: The Days Between

In Transit

Rory found the journal just after the flight attendants had finished their safety instructions. She was fishing through her book bag, visions of her grandmother attempting to shove an oxygen mask over her face, when she discovered the slim notebook wedged between her copies of _The Collected Fictions of Jorge Luis Borges_ and _Persuasion_. She pulled it out and turned it over in her hand. The covers were of smooth, shiny black material, held closed by a tight elastic band running from the top to the bottom, where a wedge of shiny black ribbon peeked out. She slipped her finger under the elastic and loosened it, opened the book.

The first page had only a "If Lost, Please Return To" label. Written there were the words "Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, known to the plebeians of her hometown as Rory, child of Lorelai, notorious coffee addict and pie lover." Beneath, the book had a space for a reward amount if recovered; Rory giggled to discover she'd be offering "just love, baby."

She turned the page and read the note in her mother's hasty, beautiful scrawl.

_My Rory,_

_I know we're not much for journaling at the Gilmore house. It's for beatnik weirdoes dressed in black turtlenecks and berets pretentiously drinking Costa Rican blend coffees and feeling the burden of existence. Either that, or it's for thirteen year old girls with keys on necklaces and tendencies to underline everything!!! I know we've mocked the journal selection at the bookstore in town together and written fake "Dear Diary" moments for everyone we know—my favorite is still the historic day Kirk discovered his single chest hair and fantasized about being the model on romance paperback books. I know we think that our brains move too fast for something so pedestrian and slow as a journal, but sometimes I wonder. _

_I've been thinking about this all week as you've been getting ready to go, shuffling around under this enormous weight of guilt you've been feeling. You and I, we're talkers. We don't do the introspective thing. Either we spew out what we're thinking over a cup of coffee at Luke's and analyze it until it's been beaten to a bloody pulp by the sheer weight of words we've spent on it, or we bottle it up without looking at it at all. All week, I've been worried about who I'm going to tell my stories to, how I'm going to release the pressure in my brain if I don't have you around to talk things over with. And that makes me wonder if maybe you do the same thing, if you wait around on things to tell me about them or bottle them up and don't let them go. Knowing you and knowing me and knowing us, I'm pretty sure you do. And Rory, babe, that's not healthy. It's just not. And then, what about all those things we can't tell each other? All those things that we choose to bottle up? What happens to them? Are those the things that make us fall down?_

_I bought you this journal the other day while you were picking up film, thinking it would be a fun way for you to keep track of your trip and to remember what you wanted to after you got back, or as a way to vent if Emily drove you crazy. (And don't say it: I know that's me and not you.) But I've thought of something better. Use this trip as an opportunity to uncork the bottle, so to speak (except, dirty!), to get all that stuff out. Write down whatever you would tell me and everything else you wouldn't. That way, it's all out—it's on the page and not pent up, it's separate from you and maybe you can think about it. Or maybe you can't think about it, but at least you've tried. Maybe this way you can help yourself figure out what happened and why it happened and what you're going to do next. Do that whole finding yourself thing. I got one for me, too—I don't know that I'll use it, as I'm not known for my patience—my many other talents, yes, but not patience. And the one I got for myself isn't this nice moleskine, it's pink and magnetic. So's the pen._

_Want to know how I'm going to begin all my entries? At the top of every new one, I'm going to write 'Dear Rory,' and I'm going to write everything as if I were sitting down and talking to you. It seems like it'll be easier that way. You could do that, or not do that, you could throw the whole notebook out the plane window, if you wanted (though I wouldn't recommend it, since the loss of air pressure will just suck you and everyone else out with it, and I'm sort of fond of you, so try to at least hang onto it until you land). Just give it a try. _

_I love you, Rory._

_Mom._

Rory looked up when she had finished, smiling. She hugged the journal to her chest, feeling like a ten year old with a new toy. She glanced to the seat beside her, where Emily was absorbed in attempting to choose a movie for herself. Her grandmother had been strangely quiet since boarding, tired and flustered. Rory put her hand on Emily's arm and squeezed.

"Grandma?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for this trip. I can't wait."

Emily smiled, her eyes sad. "I can't either," she said.

Rory slipped a pen from her bag and pulled her dining tray towards her, ready to begin. She turned to the first empty page, only to find more from Lorelai. She bit her lips to keep from laughing aloud as she read.

_Dear Mom,_

_I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for giving birth to me. I know all those long, long hours were awful—like doing the splits on a crate of dynamite, as you said—and that the many months to follow were full of unpleasantness as well, such as yellow vomit, green vomit, orange vomit, and disturbing diaper messes. I would also like to tell you how very impressive you are as a human being: beautiful, vibrant, vivacious, witty, intellectually superior to all others, a goddess made flesh. You are above compare, Mom. I am blessed. Indeed, I am blessed. I pray that someday, I might live up to the shining example that has been set for me by your very existence. I am in awe, Mom. In the words of Darth Vader, indeed, you are powerful. I could not have put it more justly_.

_In loving gratitude,_

_Rory._

She uncapped her pen and rested her hand on the paper, the ballpoint hovering just above the page. After a moment, she began.

_Dear Mom, My Lorelai,_

_I have no idea what to write about. But I guess it's a start, right?_

Without stopping to think, she continued, smiling occasionally, sometimes feeling her eyes begin to sting with disappointment. She wrote until she was tired and then she closed the journal, securing it with the elastic. She began to look forward to the trip ahead.

* * *

When Lorelai woke, she found only a note on the pillow: "Thanks, angel. I'll see you soon." She grinned and hugged her pillow, giggling a moment. Immediately, she rolled over and reached for the journal she had stuffed in her bedside table drawer. 

_Dear Rory,_ she began, _I have only one thing to say this morning: Luke is dreamy. I just made myself want to vomit, a little, but really? He is. _Lorelai sighed and chewed on her pen cap. _I have one other thing to say, as well: I'm afraid that the inn's going to spontaneously combust and we'll all be out of jobs, sunk in debt, and desperately unhappy. And somehow, it's going to be all my fault. Shit. I was in a better mood when I woke up. That almost never happens. _

_Let's start over:_

_Luke is dreamy._

_And there's the good mood again. God, I'm like a prepubescent boy. What have I become? What, I ask you? It's very weird. I obviously need coffee. _

_Miss you, _

_Mom._

She closed the journal with a snap, shoved it back into the drawer, and rolled out of bed, fairly bouncing with energy as she made her way to the kitchen for coffee.

* * *

Days In Between

The week before the opening was a whirl of last things—last touch-ups, changes, rearrangements and readjustments. Room twelve had escaped serious water damage, but the pipes needed to be fixed and the rugs replaced, the furniture shampooed to prevent the smell of mildew and the electronics thrown out, for safety's sake. Lorelai cringed to think of the money lost as she saw the rugs and TV thrown out, but because it was all due to faulty plumbing, she would not have to eat that much of the cost. She oversaw the refinishing of the room and got to move the furniture around as she had wished to do, and it was one of those many last things that were keeping her awake nights. She would be only too glad to have the inn open and running—any crisis that happened after that point she felt was well within her control. It was the uncertainty she couldn't quite live with.

But for Luke, she thought, her head was likely to spin like Linda Blair's before flying off her body altogether. She called him often during the day to whine about one thing or another. She was soothed by his constant refrain, "you can handle this, you know you can." Of course she knew she could: she just liked hearing it better from him. She would walk to the diner after leaving the inn, a bag over her shoulder full of lists and calendars, the pink journal living at the bottom underneath it all. She'd have dinner, either staring at a list or flipping idly through a magazine, hastily scrawl a note or two in the journal, and sip coffee, waiting for the crowd to thin and for Luke to walk her home. It was a routine that felt comfortable from the start, like slipping into a shirt already worn soft.

Rory had been right: no one in Stars Hollow thought much of Luke keeping Lorelai company almost constantly in Rory's absence, at least to Lorelai's knowledge. It was town gossip that Lorelai's parents had split and that Rory was keeping her grandmother company so that Emily could get away from her husband; it was also town gossip that Rory had not been quite herself before leaving and either that rotten Jess had trampled her heart again or some boy at Yale had dropped her like a bad habit. Either way, they assumed—as far as Lorelai could tell—that Lorelai was wounded Rory chose to take off because of her problem and Luke was watching out to make sure she didn't stick her head in the oven or jet off after Rory and leave the inn in the lurch. If she hadn't been so offended that people thought her that weak, Lorelai would have been highly amused.

Her nights with Luke were joyfully uneventful. He would sit on the couch, and she would lay beside him, her head pillowed on his thigh as he stroked her hair, or they would lie together, watching TV or a movie. The delightful pain in her chest that began the moment he kissed her had transformed to a singing buzz just under her skin and the fluttering resumed every time he kissed her. She had a vague notion that together it added up to contentment.

They kept their conversations light—no discussion of the past or the current and future state of affairs. Lorelai was grateful for this; it was a week full of too many other pressures, and the time spent with him was absent any kind of drama. She could tell there were things he wanted to say, but he had been patient with her so often before, and that part of their relationship hadn't changed. Three nights he stayed over (the bedroom situation remaining PG), stealing away in the early morning before she woke, never leaving without a note or, as she was happy to discover, the coffeemaker ready to brew when she turned it on.

She had yet to hear from Rory or her mother aside from the message on the machine that they had arrived safely and they would call her at some point in the near future. She knew from the detailed itinerary that they would be in Paris for a week, and from there they would go to London and Bath, then to Italy, where they would spend the majority of the trip touring. Lorelai wondered what use Rory was making of the journal she had tucked in her daughter's bag at the last moment. When she wrote in her own journal, her thoughts consisted mainly of ways that the Dragonfly would be a horrible, devastating failure and how she would spend her destitute future. She had concocted an elaborate scene in which she petitioned to become the first official hobo of Stars Hollow, delighting in her imaginary Taylor's reaction.

Thursday morning, she sat up in her bed, suddenly awake, disoriented, panic in her stomach. Immediately, she reached for the phone.

"Luke's."

"What day is it?" she demanded.

"Thursday," he said. "What, you get drunk after I left last night?"

She put a hand to her throat and felt herself shaking. "I just woke up—I thought I had missed it."

"Missed what?"

"Today. Tomorrow. Saturday." She paused. "God. I'm going crazy."

"You were there a long time ago," he told her. "Relax. You're just stressed."

"I think I'm going to puke."

"Lorelai, calm down. Focus. You're fine. The test run went great. The place looks fantastic. It's going to be fine."

"I know that, I'm just—"

"You're just making more worry for yourself than you need to," he said. "So quit it."

"You're very sympathetic," she said, her voice flat.

"You don't need sympathy," he told her, "you need common sense."

She growled at him. "Sympathy!"

"Get up, get showered, have some food, and go to work," he told her. "You won't have time to worry if you get down in it with your hands."

It was all she needed. "Dirty!"

"Goodbye, Lorelai."

She hung up and reached for the journal.

_Dear Rory,_

_I like the way my sheets smell now—you ever notice how men have that certain smell, like they all use the same soap? I love that. I hate it when he's not here when I wake up. I hate it when he's not here when I go to sleep. How can something so comfortable be that intense? I'm totally that annoying girl who can't go to a party without her boyfriend unless she's pouting about how he's not there and it would be soooo much better if he were, except the party's in my bed and I'm really glad I wrote that down instead of told you about it, because dirty! _

_Oh, babe, why do I keep anticipating disaster? Why? Why? Why now? It's because everything's going too well, maybe. That's when the shit always starts. Isn't it?_

She threw down her pen and climbed out of bed, groaning. This whole journaling thing was the least fun thing she could think to do. It just cluttered up the works—she knew Rory would take the opportunity to analyze her thoughts, figure things out, weigh everything and come to a conclusion, as though her entire personality were a scientific experiment. But Lorelai, when given the opportunity to dwell on what was bouncing around in her head, found herself more entrenched in the negative without any way to see past it. She had to get up, do things, prevent all the disaster her brain was intent on thinking up. As she stripped down for her shower, she hoped it was working better for Rory.

* * *

_Dear Mom,_

_Okay, __Paris__ is one crazy big city. And Grandma is a champion shopper. I bet you didn't know the sole purpose of this trip was to provide me an entirely new and designer wardrobe courtesy of Grandpa's platinum cards. Not that I'm complaining, entirely. I did get these cool pink heels that are going to look amazing with jeans._

_I miss you when I see something funny. There was this woman today in the store where Grandma and I were shopping, and she had this gigantic Luis Vuitton handbag, the white one with the colored writing on it? She was dressed straight out of an Audrey Hepburn film, a white suit with black trim, black heels, and this enormous black hat that puts Andy McDowell to shame—but really, what doesn't put Andy McDowell to shame? So she's looking at these truly heinous silk scarves, humming to herself, and I can't help watching her because it's just this fascinating travesty when out of the bag pops this teeny weeny dog—a miniature Doberman, I think. So she's humming and the dog is there, wagging its head, and then it all of a sudden begins to sing along to the tune, yowling like crazy. I thought Grandma was going to grab the dog by the throat like Homer Simpson and put all of us out of our misery. And I wanted you to see it, I wanted you to be there. No one else would have appreciated it._

_I've figured by now that Dean's not going to tell Lindsay or leave her. I hate that we did this thing to her and she'll never know, but I'd hate myself more if I told her and it broke her heart. (I could also see her going at me with a pair of scissors: she looks like she'd be a vicious girl-fighter, and I'm not really one for the physical activity, so that's another reason to keep it to myself.) How do I put that in a box? How do I tuck it away so that it doesn't infect everything I do all the time? _

_I don't love Dean. I wish I did. It would make me feel better to have something to feel bad about that wasn't something I did, but something I couldn't control, something like loving someone who didn't belong to me. I don't think Dean loves me, either. I just think he's incredibly unhappy and everything he does is a way of avoiding the unhappiness. I just wish I had figured that out sooner. And I don't want to become that. So, Mom, what do I do?_

_If you tell me to keep on trucking, little buddy, I might have to come home and kill you._

_Love, Rory._

Rory wrote in the journal every night before she went to bed. It lead always to sound, dreamless sleep that was never quite refreshing, but it was better than lying awake all night, thinking long thoughts.

* * *

Lorelai's father called on Friday afternoon, asking what time he should arrive at the inn the next day.

"Dinner starts at seven," she told him. "We've got you a special reserved seat. I wasn't sure you were coming; I hadn't heard from you yet."

"We had an engagement," Richard said. "Of course I will be there."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Ah, Lorelai?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Have you… heard at all from your mother this week?" His voice was hesitant.

"She and Rory arrived in Paris just fine," Lorelai said. "They'll be in London on Monday, I think. They'll probably call again then. Any messages?"

He was silent a moment. "No, no messages. Thank you, Lorelai."

"Sure, Dad. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, indeed. Have a good day, Lorelai."

"Thanks, Dad."

She hung up and closed her eyes. In her head, she began to write. _Dear Rory,_ she thought, _I have never heard my father sound so sad, ever. I feel terrible for him. Hope Paris has been beautiful for you._

* * *

Saturday dawned clear and bright. Lorelai watched her staff as they collected and transferred luggage, brought extra towels, offered whatever the guests needed to be comfortable. Her chest swelled with pride: they were doing everything right. Michel was—well, Michel was Michel and it was why he was both irritating and good at what he did. And today, she loved everyone. She stole moments in the kitchen with Sookie, who was ping-ponging around the kitchen frenetically, shrilly giving instructions to her crew.

"Things are going well," Lorelai told her.

"Things are going well!" Sookie grabbed Lorelai's hands. "I think I'm going to have a heart attack," she said.

"Oh, sweetie, calm down. The food is going to be fabulous."

"I know that," Sookie said, "but I'm still freaking out."

"Me, too." Lorelai put her arm around Sookie and rubbed her shoulder. "Let's take a breath," she said, and both breathed deeply. "Okay. Let's stop with the whole doom and gloom foreboding. We have to enjoy this, don't we? This is our dream. And it's all happening."

"It's all happening," Sookie said. "Are you still freaking out?"

"Little bit."

"Me, too."

"So, is it okay if we're freaking out and it's all happening?"

"We're only human, Sook." She paused. "You have any coffee back here?"

Things went smoothly all afternoon, things running just as they should, people behaving just as they should, and Lorelai remembered why she had wanted to do it all in the first place. Flowers from Luke arrived at three. When she called, he sounded harassed.

"Hey," she said. "The flowers are beautiful."

"Good."

"Something wrong?"

"I'm gonna kill Taylor," he began.

"Ah, just another day in Stars Hollow. What's going on?"

He cleared his throat. "Nothing, never mind, it's not important. How's things going over there?"

_"Fantastic. _It's wonderful."

"You hanging in?"

"I am. Will I see you later?"

"Count on it."

"Hey," she said. "Every time you think you want to kill Taylor, just remember how he looked with the toupee."

"And that," Luke said, "is why I like you."

Her father arrived promptly at quarter to seven. Lorelai met him at the reception desk, smiling broadly.

"Dad, hi."

"Lorelai, the place looks lovely."

"Oh, thanks, Dad. Follow me, I'll show you to your table." She glanced over her shoulder at him as she walked him to the dining room. "Have you lost weight?" she asked.

He patted his chest with his hands. "I suppose I have," he said, a trifle absently. She sat him at a small table by the window and he looked around. "This is quite the best seat in the house," he said.

"And just for you."

"Will you be joining me?"

"I'll drop in," she said. "I have to circulate." She noted with surprise that he seemed slightly disappointed. "I can sit and stay for dessert," she added.

He nodded. "I look forward to it."

Luke arrived in the kitchen at seven-thirty. Lorelai's chest tightened slightly, and without greeting him, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out onto the back porch. She threw her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi." He leaned back and kissed her. "You look happy."

"Best crazy day ever," she said. "My dad even came."

"Your dad's here?"

"Uh-huh. You want to join us for dessert?" He stiffened. "Oookay. Never mind. I should probably be able to leave in like, two hours?"

"I'll meet you out front."

Her father was staring thoughtfully into his coffee cup when Lorelai plunked herself into the seat across from him. "What, they playing a movie in there?" she asked.

He looked up as though surprised to see her. "Lorelai," he said.

"How was the dinner?"

"Absolutely delicious. My compliments to the chef."

"I'll pass that along," Lorelai said. "I ordered us the dark chocolate cake for dessert." He nodded. "Dad, are you okay?"

"Fine, fine. I just—" He sighed. "Our house," he said, "is very big."

"Yes," Lorelai said. "One of its greater selling points."

"It is a very big and very loud house, especially for being an empty one."

"You miss Mom," she supplied.

Again, he sighed, more heavily this time. "I miss your mother very much."

"Dad, what were you fighting about?"

He rubbed his eyes. "It's very complicated, Lorelai."

"Do you want to explain it to me?"

Just as Richard opened his mouth to speak again, he stopped and looked up. Lorelai followed his eyes: Luke was hovering just behind where she sat. She gave him a questioning look. He seemed to gather himself up and approached them.

"Luke, hi," she said. She looked at her father. "Dad, you remember Luke. He came to Rory's graduation last year. Luke Danes, he runs the diner in Stars Hollow."

"Of course," Richard said, rising and offering his hand. "Luke, nice to see you again."

"How are you, sir?" Luke asked gruffly.

Lorelai bit her lips together to keep herself from laughing. "Bring up a chair, Luke."

The three of them sat together, making awkward small talk. Lorelai thought she could see the steam coming out of Luke's ears, but she wanted to kiss him for trying so hard. And if she and her father had ever done that sort of thing, she would have thrown her arms around him and hugged him as hard as she could, shelving his own problems to be personable as he was.

"So, Luke, did you also receive a special, opening day invitation?" Richard asked.

Luke stuttered for a moment. Lorelai jumped in, telling him that Luke was an investor. She blinked and saw Luke was slightly hurt by this and she heard herself nattering on, saying "you know, helping local businesses, expanding the town's economic base…" She trailed off. "Actually, Dad, neither you or Luke ever need an invitation to drop in here. You're my dad," she said lamely.

"I did know this, Lorelai," he said.

She could feel Luke watching her. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worked it for a second. "And Luke and I are… seeing each other," she said.

She envied her father's ability to control his countenance. "Well. That's something, isn't it?"

"It is," she agreed. She looked at Luke, who was staring intently at the table. "It is something," she said, drawing out her words.

"This is awkward," Luke said. He looked up, startled at the sound of his own voice.

"I quite agree," Richard said. "Lorelai, where's that cake?"

She walked her father to his car shortly afterwards. "Dad?"

"Yes, Lorelai?"

"Please come and eat here whenever you want. We could keep Friday night dinners, just have them here. Or not, whatever you want."

"Thank you, Lorelai." He put his arm awkwardly around her shoulder. "You've done a nice job here."

"Thank you, Daddy."

She watched him drive away, her arms crossed over her chest. Luke met her at the bottom of the drive. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed. She stepped toward him and leaned heavily against his chest. "I am tired," she said.

"Come on," he said. "I'll take you home."

"I could use a foot rub." Her voice was hopeful.

"Keep dreaming," he said.

* * *

_Dear Mom,_

_It's raining in __London__. Cliché? Or a perfect way to see the city? I leave it to you._

_Hope the opening went well. I've been thinking about it all day. I'm sure it was amazing: it's you and Sookie, after all. It's all old hat. (Please forget I said 'old hat.')_

_Grandma is so quiet all the time. It makes me sad. Do you think she and Grandpa—of course they will. They have to. Otherwise the world will begin to spin backwards._

_I miss you, but I think it's good to get away. I keep thinking about how this trip is like my Grand Tour, like I'm some young socialite learning about different cultures, but really all I'm responsible for is showing off my good figure in the hopes of landing me a man. It's entertaining. _

_Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I had gone with Jess. I don't know that I would have been happy—I would have been waiting all the time for the bottom to drop out. Maybe it's why what happened with Dean happened the way it did—Dean always seemed so certain to me, solid in a way I could never count on Jess to be. But that was what was intriguing about Jess—it's a whole mess in my head, you know? I left Dean for Jess because he was everything Dean wasn't, and I went back to Dean because Dean isn't Jess._

_I'm such a mess, Mom. I miss you._

_Love, Rory._


	12. Lost Time

Time Gone By

_Dear Mom,_

_Grandma likes to get up early in the morning and order breakfast for me. When I roll out of bed and head for the main room of the suite, she's already sitting at the table with a book, but she's never reading. She just sits and sips her tea and stares out the window._

_We've been in __London__ only three days now, but she hasn't left the hotel yet. I go out in the morning and do my own thing—I went back to Westminster and Kensington Gardens and a few other places, but I just can't do Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square without you, or at least without Grandma so that I can watch her watch everything else—and when I come back in the afternoon the concierge (who's got nothing on Michel) has said all three days that Grandma hasn't been out. I'm worried about her._

_I've stopped having conversations with you when I go places, almost. Mostly I just find a place to sit and watch people after I've done all the looking-at-things I feel like doing. It's interesting: yesterday I saw this group of boys play soccer with a pebble like it was the most important thing in the world. They even said "gooooal" (which is funnier when it's happening at the diner and you're throwing French fries in your mouth—or at Luke; how _is_ Luke?). You're still there, I guess, in the things I tell myself, but most of the time it's quiet up in my head._

_I know what I wanted this year: for things not to change. I think I was a little too successful with that. I never thought that would be a bad thing, but there you have it._

_Miss you. Lots of love,_

_Rory._

The third afternoon that Rory returned from her solitary walking in London, she found Emily pacing in the sitting room of their suite, wringing her hands.

"Grandma, what's wrong?"

Emily looked up, her face set in anguished worry. "Oh, Rory, I'm glad you're back. Would you sit down, please?"

She let her grandmother take her by the arm and guide her to a chair. "What's going on?" she asked. "Is everything okay at home?"

"Oh, yes, everything's fine as far as I know—I don't mean to scare you, it's just—" Emily took a breath. "I'm afraid I have a terribly large favor to ask of you, Rory."

"Oh, Grandma, anything. You've been so great about this whole trip—it's been wonderful," she said.

This seemed to make Emily more upset. "Good," she said. "I was just—would you mind, terribly, if we cut our time in London short? I thought we could go back to France, perhaps Avignon, before we meet our train to Italy. Would that be all right with you?"

Rory's mouth fell open slightly. "Sure, Grandma, whatever you want to do is fine. But is it okay if I ask why?"

Emily stood up and resumed her pacing. Rory watched her from where she sat, completely unsure of how to handle herself in this situation. A discomposed grandmother was novelty to her.

"I just hate this damned city!" Emily finally said. "I hate everything about it: the smells, the sounds, the money, the hotel staff—it's just horrible." She balled up her fists and tensed; Rory would not have been surprised had she stomped her foot and bellowed from the look of her posture. "Would it completely ruin your trip?"

Rory shook her head. "Not possible," she said. "Grandma, come sit down. What's going on, really? You can tell me," she said, inclining her head in what she hoped was an encouraging and sympathetic manner.

"Oh, it's all very boring and complicated," Emily said, resting gingerly on the edge of the sofa. "You don't want to hear about any of it, my dear."

"Sure I do. You're my grandma, and you obviously are having a hard time with something, so I would like to help. You always let me come to you when I'm having a bad time," she added. "Grandma?"

Emily's eyes were distant, scanning the wall opposite as she spoke, as though she saw something moving behind the plain taupe paint. "Your grandfather and I took a trip very similar to this after we were married, you know. France, England, Italy. It was the thing to do, to tour with your husband, back then. His mother came with us, of course, and we shared a suite much like this, with her room across from ours, just like this, your room across from mine. Oh, but I loved him. As much as I hated her, I loved him. He was so good—he would take his mother out in the mornings for her walk and in the afternoon we would go out and see all the things you're supposed to see when you travel. He knew so many things, you know," she said.

Rory saw the faint traces of a smile on Emily's face, her eyes warm with remembrance that dissipated into bitterness. "Our time in London was… unpleasant. We hadn't been married long, but that basset hound he called his mother was already making noises about having someone to carry on the Gilmore name, having children. I was nothing more than a breeder. I didn't think the time was right, I wanted to be _married_ first, to have time together, to plan and think and then to go forward when we both of us were ready. But he had already picked out the names," Emily said. "Oh, we had a terrible fight, that hairy chinned bat listening the whole time, I'm sure, grinning her wrinkly bottom off, no doubt. I packed my things, you know. I got a taxi and I went to the airport." Rory saw her grandmother's face fall slightly: she blinked and studied her hands, folded elegantly in her lap. "He didn't follow me. Not for six hours. I waited. I didn't even buy a ticket. I was so sure he would come." She sighed. "He came, though, when he thought I had already left and there was nothing more to do."

Emily looked at Rory, smiling a sad, weary smile. She put her hand to her granddaughter's face. "I forgave him, of course. And we went back to Paris and left his mother there before we went on to Italy. Things were fine after that, wonderful again." She let her hand fall, slowly. "I should have figured it out then. It would have made things so much easier," she said.

"Figured what out, Grandma?"

Emily tilted her chin up, considering the words even as she spoke. "That the old bitch was right: I am not a Gilmore." She rose and walked to the window. "Gilmores do things a certain way. Family first, always, but in name only. Protect the name, the reputation, the façade. The people inside are only a secondary consideration."

Rory tucked her hair behind her ears, smoothed her skirt nervously. After a moment, she looked up. "I don't understand."

Emily's eyes were full when she looked back. "Oh, neither do I, Rory. But your grandfather does. And he's never changed."

"Maybe he can," Rory said, her voice hopeful. "I know he loves you."

She laughed. "Oh, he does, in his own way, I suppose. And I love him, in spite of everything, and perhaps that's why this has been so painful. Everything became very clear to me the afternoon your mother came to plead for Jason and his business, how very Gilmore he is. He was ready to let her walk away just to save face. After all these years, to have her come to us, to lose it all over something like that." She turned away from the window. "People are not _things,_ Rory; they cannot be moved around and shuffled about at will. I don't know that your grandfather understands that or that he ever will. But I am not a thing," she said. "I suppose I came to his way of thinking, after your mother was born. There couldn't be any children after her, it just wasn't possible—"

"Oh, Grandma," Rory breathed. "I had no idea."

Emily shrugged. "No one did. Your mother—oh, I wanted to throttle her so many times. She drove me around every bend she could see and when she couldn't she made up a new one. Your mother was intent on being her own person—she reinvented that Gilmore single-mindedness, but I think she made it better. I was devastated when she left, you know, and for years I held it against her, but she got on the plane and I never could."

Rory rose and walked to the window. She slipped her hand in Emily's and rested her head against her grandmother's shoulder. "Grandma?"

"Yes, darling?"

"What do you need?"

"Oh, Rory, I think I have everything I need right here," she said, squeezing Rory's hand. "You and I need to make something of this trip. I was trying to remember some things—who that girl was, I suppose, who left for the airport that day, _certain_ things would go her way. She was not a thing when she left the hotel, you know." Emily turned her face away from Rory, saying, "but she was when she came back."

They stood in silence a long moment. Rory put her arms around Emily and held her tightly. "Okay, Grandma. Let's go." She paused. "We could check out a nude beach or two if you want."

_Dear Mom,_

_Did you know that Grandma gets a joke? Did you know how like you she is? Or maybe, how much you're like her? In the best ways, Mom, so don't freak. I feel sorry for her, and I feel badly that I can't help her more. But it's sort of nice—we're both trying to do the same things, and at least we can help each other out._

_Love, Rory._


	13. Long Time Coming

Long Time Coming

Luke took Lorelai for a picnic one night a day or two after the inn opened, riding into Hartford to go to Bushnell Park just for the ceremony of it. They ate thick sandwiches and potato salad and fruit and after, they lay on the blanket together, Lorelai resting in the crook of Luke's arm, her head on his chest. It was a calm, clear night; both of them were silent, Lorelai listening intently to the sounds of Luke's body, memorizing his rhythms and the slight catch in his throat each time he took a breath. Luke rested his chin on her hair. Though she hadn't put pen to paper in days, Lorelai made a mental note: _Dear Rory, In his heartbeat? I can hear my name._

When it was too cold to stay out, he drove her back to the house, walked her inside, kissed her goodnight as he had done for almost three weeks. Instead of watching him leave, leaning in the doorframe and offering rude commentary on the state of his rear, Lorelai took his hand in hers, tugging him back inside. She led him through the living room and up the stairs to her room. Deliberately, she reached up and lifted his hat off his head. She moved slowly to her dresser, where she placed it among the knots of jewelry and the confusion of bottles collected there. She spent a moment staring at it before she turned to him and looked at him levelly, waiting.

"Are you sure?" he asked at length, needing to find his voice.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

"Should I—" he began. Lorelai turned her head, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "So, you're—?"

"Taken care of," she told him.

Luke ran his hands over his scalp, taking her in. She leaned all her weight on one foot, one shoulder tilted towards the floor. Her hair fell around her face, a dark curtain of curls that prevented her from meeting his eye again. He had never seen this woman shy before. She tucked her hair behind her ears and lifted her chin.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked.

He met her halfway, pulling her roughly toward him. He kissed her as he worked her shirt up over her stomach, over her chest, feeling the seconds she disappeared as it went up over her head far too long. He kissed her as she pushed back the flannel overshirt he wore, as she tugged at his tee shirt, as her hands crept up his chest. Neither laughed when the shirt got stuck on his head, both impatient to yank it off and cast it away. He pulled her so close then that maintaining the kiss was almost difficult and she found herself lifted slightly off her feet to better accommodate it. He held her this way a long time, just kissing her, supporting her whole weight as she leaned against him. She broke from him and leaned forward, hugging him tightly, her chin on his shoulder. After a moment, she stepped back and lowered her head, again avoiding his gaze.

"Lorelai?"

When she looked up, her eyes were tearful. "I'm happy," she said simply, shrugging.

He drew her to him again, kissing her closed eyes, her jaw line, her collarbone. She cradled his head in her hands and he felt the flutter of her pulse as he put his lips to her throat.

They fell onto the bed and took their time there, exploring each other, touching, tasting, breathlessly quiet save for murmured names, pleas, prayers. He did things she had never found particularly enjoyable with others, tangling his hands in her hair, touching her places she had only ever found irritating before—he erased those moments of _before. _Each touch of _his_ hands, _his _fingertips, _his _lips, _his _teeth, _his _tongue sent currents of delightfully painful electricity coursing through her. She found herself clinging to him, clutching at his arms and shoulders and chest, wanting him to be closer, to brand her body with his own. He had never experienced anything like the fierceness of her kisses, the insistent, intense, almost ferocious way she pulled him against her, as though she wished to fuse their bodies together, bind them to each other forever. Her breath on his neck, his name on her lips—it was somehow more than anything had ever been. They overwhelmed each other.

After, they lay together, facing each other in the dark, legs entwined, Luke's arm around her, her hand on his face. Lorelai kissed him softly, her eyes closed. He studied her face as he hadn't ever before, adoring every kissable feature, every inch of skin, savoring the picture of her lips swollen with his kisses, her hair and lashes dark against her skin.

"Whatchoo lookin' at, foo'?" she asked.

He kissed the hand that rested on his cheek. "Just you."

Lorelai inched closer and opened her eyes. His face was completely open, soft with feeling. Her skin hummed and she felt tears pricking behind her eyes. She traced the shape of his eyes with her forefinger, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his ear. She mapped his face in her mind, the cheekbones, lips, jaw, stubble. _This face,_ she thought, _this perfect face._

"Whatchoo lookin' at, foo'?" he asked.

Her eyes filled. "I am a fool." She buried her face in his neck. "What _took_ us so long?" she asked, her voice muffled against his skin.

He massaged the base of her neck. "I guess we took as long as we needed to. Maybe we weren't really ready for each other before," he said.

Lorelai lifted her head and kissed him again. "Look at me," she said. "You can't go anywhere," she said.

"Where would I go?"

"I don't—you just can't, you have to stay and be with me," she told him. "Promise me?" Though she attempted calm, Luke could hear a slight tremor in her words.

"Hey," he said. "What's this about? Lorelai?"

She bit her lip. "I just—I need you," she said. "Promise, Luke. I need you to promise."

He touched his lips to her forehead. "I promise," he replied. "I promise."

She relaxed, then, breathing a shaky sigh, attempting lightness when she spoke again. "Good. _That's_ settled." She rolled onto her other side and curved her back to spoon against him. "So," she said, "nice job, buddy."

Luke snorted in laughter. "Glad you think so."

"Oh, I do. And I would not object to a repeat performance. Or several, for that matter."

"I'll remember that," he said, planting a kiss on her shoulder.

She tilted her head to look back at him. "Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Content," he told her. Her face blossomed in a smile. "You?"

"Blissful," she replied.

"And?"

"Hungry?" she said tentatively. She peered at him, hopeful.

"Right," he said, throwing back the covers. "Come on."

Lorelai sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Good God, Luke, you were _naked_ underneath that sheet!"

He gave her a withering look as he pulled up his boxers. "You hungry or not?" he asked, throwing a tee shirt at her.

She pulled it over her head, locating a pair of panties and sliding them on as an afterthought. She padded down after him, smiling. He was already at work, pulling things out of the cabinet. Lorelai hoisted herself onto the counter and watched Luke make pancakes.

"I love a man who works with his hands," she said.

Luke gave her an amused look. "I noticed that before," he told her.

He plated a stack and smothered them in syrup. They shared the plate, balanced carefully on Lorelai's thighs as Luke stood between her knees. For a moment, they were quiet. Lorelai leaned down to kiss him, her mouth sticky with syrup.

"God, this is fun," she said.

"What is?"

"Being with you," she said, punctuating it with a kiss.

"You're not so bad either," he said, returning the kiss.

She gently bit his lower lip in response. "Oh, you're _hilarious,"_ she drawled. She cut another wedge of pancake, her voice careless as she spoke: "You're just lucky I love you."

Lorelai froze when she realize what she had just said. She looked at him, her eyes wide.

Luke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took a breath. "Yeah, well, I sort of am," he said.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Luke," she began.

He silenced her, brushing his thumb over her lips. Like a child, he then licked off the syrup he had collected there, holding her still startled gaze all the while. "I love you, too," he said.

"But, Luke—"

"Lorelai, would you please shut up?" he asked agreeably, grinning.

After a moment, she gave in, narrowing her eyes and smirking at him. "Make me."

Luke put the plate aside and in one movement pulled her off the counter and hoisted her over his shoulder. "Right," he said, "you got it."

"Nice butt!"

"Do not drum on my butt, Lorelai."

"Heh. Luke said 'butt," she giggled. "_Butt._"

He rolled his eyes, depositing to her feet at the top of the stairs. "You're lucky I love _you_," he said.

"Don't I know it," she grinned. She put her arms around his neck. "I meant it," she said.

"I know you did. So did I."

"Kiss me?"

"Done."

After a moment, he was forced to grab her waist to steady himself when she abruptly pulled back, her eyes lit with amusement. "Hey, go back and get the syrup!"

"Ah, geez," he groaned, lifting her off her feet and carrying her the rest of the way to the bedroom.

Lorelai was still giggling when he dropped her on the bed. "Kitchen to bed service, I like it," she said. "But I was serious about the syrup."

"Would you stop with the talking now?"

"Gladly," she said. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. "C'mere," she said.

It was all the invitation he needed.


	14. In the HalfLight of Morning

In the Half-Light of Morning

Lorelai woke in the half-light of dawn curled up in the center of her bed, her head on Luke's abdomen. She looked up and found him still asleep, one hand thrown over his forehead, the other cupped around her own shoulder. She dropped a light kiss on his side and eased herself away from him slowly so as not to wake him. She sat up, covering him with the blanket, drawing it up around herself as she pulled her knees to her chest and folded her arms across them. She watched him sleep a moment, feeling that warm, familiar tightening in her chest; she allowed her gaze to wander towards the window. She watched the light changing.

She was still sitting so when Luke opened his eyes. Her hair fell over her shoulders and the expression on her face was distant. He reached out and put his hand flat on the small of her back.

"Hey," he said.

She tipped her head to look at him, resting her cheek against her arm. "Hey."

"What're you doing?"

"Baking cookies," she said, her expression thoughtful.

Luke raised himself up on his elbows. "Everything okay?" he asked, his brows furrowed with worry.

"Better than that," she told him, closing her eyes and smiling.

"Then what the hell are you doing all the way over there?"

She stretched out beside him, settling into the curve of his arm. She kissed him, softly at first, slowly, with deliberation, tapping her fingers slowly down his chest, his stomach, over his shoulders and his arms, trailing kisses across his cheek to his ear. "Good morning," she whispered, and pulled his arms around her. When he attempted to speak, she shushed him, guiding his mouth to hers, drawing him to her. As before, they ended together and held each other, waiting for their breathing to slow.

They lie in silence awhile, his cheek against her forehead. She hooked her leg up over his hip and circled patterns on his back with her fingers.

"This is good," he said, at length.

"Hear, hear," she said. Suddenly she pushed him back, drawing herself up to a sitting position, dramatically pulling the sheet up with her as she went, covering herself. Her hair fell around her face and she took a breath.

"Having a Gwyneth moment?" he yawned, stretching.

She narrowed her eyes. "I have something to show you. We have to get up."

"I think I've seen everything there is to see," he said, but he allowed her to haul him out of bed, stole peeks at her as she hastily threw on clothes. He followed suit, sliding into his jeans and tee shirt.

Lorelai walked past the dresser and picked up his baseball hat from where she had left it the night before. She took it in both hands and with great ceremony placed it back on his head. "Perfect," she said.

Luke found that when he moved to kiss her now she responded with total acquiescence: as he put his arms around her to bring her closer, there was no stumbling, no hesitancy, nothing but fluid acceptance as she reached for him too. She surprised herself with how much she gave him, how when she tilted her head away to breathe, there was nothing else she was holding back. He looked at her upturned face and couldn't help but smile.

"What?"

"You know, I'd always thought that with the amount of coffee you drink, you'd taste bitter in some way," he said. "You don't taste bitter at all."

"You've thought about the way I _taste_?"

"Among other things, yes."

Giggling, she asked what those _other_ _things_ might be.

"Use your imagination," he said dryly.

"Believe me buddy, after last night I don't have to. So, how do I taste?"

He kissed her again, reaching for words to phrase it justly.

"Soft," he said, "and warm, and a little bit like, I don't know, like lavender and honeysuckle."

Lorelai grinned. "I do keep a bag of potpourri behind my liver for just that effect." She circled her arms around his neck. "You're pretty corny," she said. "Must be all the making of the _loooove_ wearing you down. Let me see here," she said, kissing him again. "You taste like sage," she said, "and clover, and cream." She punctuated each with a brief kiss. "But you're distracting me: I really do have something to show you."

She took his hand and led him down the stairs towards Rory's room. They stopped just in the doorway. She turned to him expectantly. "What do you think?"

He looked at her, baffled. "I think we're in Rory's room and that that makes me very uncomfortable."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Imagine all the furniture's gone, the bed, everything. How would you do it over?"

"You want me to give you interior design tips? Lorelai, that's not really my area."

"But, Thom! I'm so disappointed!" she whined. Off his look, she said, "God, _Queer Eye?_ Do you never watch TV? Never mind—what kind of furniture would you put in here?"

"You're going to redo Rory's room while she's away? I don't understand—"

"No, it's _for_ her. She hasn't been in here since—"

"And now I'm even more uncomfortable," Luke said, throwing his hands up in front of him and starting to back out towards the kitchen.

Lorelai grabbed his elbow and tugged. "Focus, Luke. Shelves, desk, bed."

He shifted his weight from side to side, glancing around the room. "I guess shelves bracketed to the wall, pairs of 'em, going along one side, maybe a pull-out desk? I could do a new headboard," he said. "There's way too much furniture in this room for such a small space—you've got a chair, two dressers, two desks, the shelves, the bed—could condense a lot of it and still keep some shelf space for her stuff."

"See? _That's_ what I'm looking for."

Luke lowered himself to sit down on his haunches, looked up at the room from the floor. "It could work. I could do it."

Lorelai kneeled beside him. "I'm going to do all the painting and the curtains, a new duvet cover, pick out some posters. She won't even recognize it."

"That's the point, right?"

"Right." Lorelai nudged him with her elbow. "Thanks."

"How long do we have?"

"About four weeks?"

"Ah, geez, Lorelai," he sighed. "I'm gonna have to work on it every second I'm not at work." He rose and helped her to her feet. "But for Rory, I guess I could do it."

Lorelai leaned up on her toes to kiss him. "You're the _best._"

"I should get going," he said. "I'll draw some stuff up this morning—you going to come by later?"

"Indubitably. Get whatever you're going to need, I'll write you a check."

"Nope."

"Luke."

"Nope."

"We'll negotiate."

She stopped him just as he had his hand on the doorknob of the back door. She called him from just outside Rory's door. "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

Lorelai hesitated, wetting her lips, tucking her hair behind her ears. She finally looked up at him, her hands on his hips. "I love you," she told him. "I just wanted to tell you that while we're both wearing pants, so it's clear."

He remained rooted to where he was. Lorelai saw him gather himself in, swallow thickly, rub his hand over his mouth. "I read the book, and everything, but the whole talking about… emotions… thing still—"

"Makes you uncomfortable?" she supplied.

"It's hard," he said. "And don't even say it. I meant difficult."

"I know," she said, chastened. "I wasn't going to say it."

"You were thinking it," he replied. "When you said that, last night—"

"I wish I had said it better," she sighed.

"You said it perfect. Now, stop interrupting." He took a breath. "My whole life, I never wanted to hear anyone say that more than I wanted to hear you say it. That's the truth."

"Oh, Luke—"

"And I don't, you know, talk about that stuff, and I don't know—if maybe I had said it earlier—but that doesn't matter, 'cause this is happening _now._ And last night, it was—it was _easy,"_ he said. He raised his eyes to meet her gaze. "It was easy," he said again, shrugging. "So: I love you."

Lorelai felt her throat tightened. She bit her lip and walked toward him, her arms extended. She threw them about him, hugging him as tightly as she could. "You are just too good," she told him. "You sure you're human?"

"I know I'm in trouble if you're the one asking me that," he said. He kissed her and pulled away. "I really have to go."

She dropped her arms and stepped back. "Wait!"

"Lorelai—"

"I have to show you something."

"Again?"

She grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the answering machine in the entryway. "Don't get mad," she said, her finger hovering over the play button.

"_That's_ never a good start," Luke said.

The voice on the machine was uncomfortably loud: "Lorelai. Jason. Please call me when you get this message."

Too uneasy to look, Lorelai only felt Luke tense up beside her. She pushed the forward button.

"Lorelai. Jason. Give me a call."

Luke's hands balled into fists.

"Lorelai. Jason again. Call me."

She pushed stop. "There are six more just like it," she said.

"Since when?"

"The day before yesterday." She crossed her arms over her chest. "That's an impressive shade of purple you're turning there."

"This is not the kind of thing you can't tell me, Lorelai—"

"I know."

"I mean, I'm—we're in this all the way now, but you've got to let me be—"

"I know."

"What the hell is he doing, calling here? What the hell are you doing, keeping this to yourself?"

"I _know._ But I'm telling you now," she said. "Calm down!"

"I'm not gonna calm down, clearly the guy is unstable—what if he had come here—what if he tried to hurt you? Didja ever think of that?"

"Luke. Calm down," she said again. "Jason's—he's annoying, but I don't think he would ever _hurt_ me."

"He's clearly capable of—"

"Of attempting to wear me down," Lorelai said. "It's not a big deal. I just wanted you to know."

Luke stopped. "Is that what you were thinking about upstairs, before? Whether or not to tell me?"

"I didn't want you to go off half-cocked, pistols blazing like some crazed boyfriend; clearly _that_ was just _ridiculous_. What? What's with the look?"

He was grinning. "You called me your boyfriend. That's so—"

"Doooon't even say it," she said. "I beg you."

"You did."

"I reserve the right, as the woman in the relationship, to do so. You are the man. Words like 'cute' are _my_ domain." She put her arms around him. "Please. Don't let this get to you. He'll let it go eventually."

"If he calls again—"

"I will tell you," she said. "Promise."

"I do not go off _half-cocked,_" he said.

Lorelai giggled. "No, you go off—"

"Don't _you_ say it. Crap. I'm going to be late."

"Wait."

"You got something else to show me?" he asked warily.

She raised her hands and began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. "I was just wondering, what with last night and this morning and everything, if maybe we wanted to fly _over_ the radar?"

His eyes widened slightly. "You wanna share this with the town?"

She scoffed. "I'm not suggesting we do it in the middle of the diner in broad daylight, or anything—"

"But it would be okay if we did it broad darkness," he drawled.

"—but," she continued, lifting one eyebrow in response, "I could just casually tell Miss Patty that we're, you know."

"That we're what?"

"A couple," she said, dropping her voice. "And then Patty—"

"Will get the whole phone tree in motion, I get it," he said. He sighed. "Can it wait until after the town meeting tomorrow? I don't wanna go in there and have everybody be _looking_ at me and _talking_ about me—it's just—"

Lorelai smirked. "Totally my idea of a good time." She kissed him. "Fine by me."

"And now, I really gotta go," he said, kissing her again.

She dropped her arms. He was halfway to the door when she called out.

"Wait!"

He turned to see her hugging herself, delighted.

"I was just messing with you that time," she told him. She leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees, puckering her lips. "I _love_ you," she cooed, her voice high and sugary.

Luke grinned in spite of himself. "And this is my life now," he said, opening the door.

Lorelai was already halfway to the stairs. "Get used to it, buddy!"

She heard him, though she wasn't sure she was meant to, as he replied, "Planning on it."


	15. Now and Then

Now and Then

They took the train from Paris to Milan. Emily bought out an entire sleeper cabin so that she and Rory would not be forced to share with strangers. The sleepers themselves were not quite Emily's style, too bench-like and closed in and plastic. Rory sat up with her as long as either of them could stay awake, talking. They sat hunched in their cabin, attempting to negotiate the small space as they went through their overnight bags.

"Rory," Emily began, "you have been awfully quiet this trip."

"I have?"

"Is there anything you that you would like to talk about?"

Rory chewed on her lip. "I don't know what my mom told you," she said, "but I'm really okay."

Emily's look was an eloquent negative to this. She responded only that Lorelai had vaguely suggested Rory needed to get away. Though Rory knew this to be a slight untruth, her mother's brief description of the conversation she and Emily had actually had still fresh in her memory, she had to admire her grandmother's adeptness at steering a conversation.

"She was very respectful of your privacy, just as I wish to be. I am only offering to listen should you want to discuss anything that might be bothering you."

"I do have some things on my mind," Rory conceded.

"You can tell me."

"I know," she said.

"Did you have a fight with your mother?"

Rory turned her face away to smother a slight smile that this was the automatic first assumption. The humor of it didn't last long when she realized what the answer would be.

"Yes," Rory said, "and no. First we had a fight and then we made up. And then I decided to leave."

"What was this fight about? A boy?"

Rory looked at her grandmother, her eyes wide. "How—yeah, a boy."

"I am a mother, Rory. I understand fights between mothers and daughters. The ones that lead to running away often have to do with members of the opposite sex."

"I guess they do," she replied vaguely.

"Could you tell me more? Perhaps I might be able help."

Rory sighed. "I didn't—I was… with someone that I shouldn't have been with. He's—he's not—he didn't belong to me. I didn't think. Mom called me on it, that's all." She looked at Emily. "Mom and I are okay now, though."

"But you're not," Emily said. It was not a question, and Rory found she couldn't read her grandmother's eyes at all. Her own gaze faltered. She had seen Emily Gilmore judgmental, angry, distant, and any number of frighteningly intense emotions, but she didn't know what to make of the level, even stare, the stillness of her posture. There was no coldness, just inscrutability.

"Not really. The way I acted—and then I said some things to Mom that I still can't believe I said… When I think about it now it almost seems like that had to be someone else, because it couldn't be me. I'm just—I'm not like that."

The expression on Rory's face was one of bewilderment and frustration, as though she were staring at a painting she could not quite figure out, or a math problem flawlessly executed still ending in an incorrect solution. Emily rose and moved towards the small window, staring at the countryside that passed for a moment.

"Oh, Rory, we're none of us just one person all the time," she finally said. "Except, perhaps, for your mother. She's always known her mind so well, been so confident—even when she falters she seems to do in the most Lorelai way possible." She smiled ruefully. "The rest of us aren't always so lucky."

"What do you mean?"

Emily stooped and sat beside Rory, placing her hand on her granddaughter's knee. The guardedness Rory felt before was replaced by weariness.

"We're bits and pieces of different people at different times. It all adds up to who we are, eventually." Emily sighed. "Sometimes you suddenly see a piece you don't like very much."

"What then?"

Emily kissed Rory's forehead and rose to prepare herself for sleep. "You figure out what to do with it and then you get on, move forward." She paused. "Thank you for sharing with me, Rory."

Rory bit her lip. "Are you disappointed?"

Emily opened her mouth to speak, but paused, considering her words. "Rory," she said, "we all make our mistakes. Every one of us. It's a terrible condition, but that's the way we are. It's what we do after we make them that matters."

"Oh." It was all she could think of to say. "Mom was hurt by it. She didn't know. I should have told her."

"Yes, well, your mother has made her own mistakes. I'm sure she understood, or she will, at some point." Emily sat down again heavily, as though the weight of what she said was too much to bear. "Hindsight really is the damnedest thing." She attempted a smile. "Goodnight, Rory."

"Goodnight, Grandma."

_Dear Mom,_

_This is what I told you: he took the ring off. We were safe._

_This is what I didn't tell you: he took the ring off right before he put the condom on, and he shoved the ring into the pocket of his jeans. We had been kissing on the bed and he undid the back of my dress before he sat up and took his shirt off. He pulled me off the bed, then; for a second I was frightened. He had a look in his eyes, this intense look, and he told me he needed me, that he'd never loved anyone in his life the way he'd loved me. I remember the past tense he used now but I didn't notice then. He'd only ever felt good enough, he said, when he was with me. I didn't know what to say, and I let him kiss me. I'm trying to think of what was going through my mind, but I'm coming up blank. The only thing I can remember is that I knew this was going to be my first time, that it was going to happen with Dean, and that was the way I'd always thought it would be when we were together. _

_After that, things happened really fast. He took off the ring and put it in his pocket, took off his pants and left them on the floor. I remember that when he turned around and looked at me, I was still in my clothes: I remember feeling overdressed. And then—what happened then? I don't remember how the bed got unmade, really, just that he told me he wanted to be with me and slid my dress off and we were together in the bed and kissing and he had the condom and when it happened it hurt. I don't even remember if we looked at each other. I just remember it was really quiet. _

_We didn't have a lot of time together when it was over—he was holding me, and he was stroking my hair, kissing my face, saying my name. I ached a little bit then, and not just because what we had done was painful, Mom, but because that was when I remembered things like falling asleep with him in Miss Patty's studio and the first time he held my hand and how easy it was when we were together at first—everything was easy. But we heard you come in and he stopped saying my name. He was out of the bed so fast he elbowed me in the shoulder, hard. We got dressed before you came down, and you know the rest._

_That conversation we had? Some of the things I said? "You don't understand the situation," I said, and I said it to you like you were stupid. "She's not good for him," I said, and I still think I was right. But so were you, I know. I threw Sherri and Dad in your face, and that was just mean. And then I said you were mad because I didn't talk about it with you first, that I decided I was ready on my own. You told me I wasn't. I still don't know—there's no way to know now because it's done and you can't just go back and revirginize yourself—well, I know technically you can, but you can't unhave an experience. But if I had been honest with you earlier, or if I had told you what was going on with Dean sooner, maybe we would have had that conversation. Maybe the whole thing could have been avoided. _

_I didn't tell you, Mom, because I didn't realize anything had changed. Everything with Dean before Jess showed up—this time, that is—was just normal. I think. I thought. I don't know. It was me and my friend Dean, who I used to date. But then Jess came around and he wanted me to go with him and all I knew was that I didn't want to go. He'd just leave me again if I did, or I would be waiting for it all the time. And Dean never leaves unless you tell him to. But he didn't say goodbye to me when you came in that night. He took off with the ring in his pocket._

_I said I hated you for ruining it for me. I hate that I said that to you. I hate that it happened fast and we didn't have a lot of time together and that it hurt. That doesn't mean I didn't think it was nice, afterward, when he was holding me. But it was scary, too. It was after, when you asked me what I was going to do, when I heard Lindsay's voice on the phone, that I realized what we did wasn't nice at all, and it seemed much scarier._

_You and Grandma both said pretty much the same thing: figure it out and keep going. This is what I've figured out: the whole year I was too scared to go beyond… anything. Yale was Chilton, grade 13. I didn't work very hard to do the keep going part. Going back was easier. _

_Funny that it takes me leaving to see how unlike you I can be and how far I have to go to be as strong as you are._

_Love,_

_Rory._

In the morning, they took a look around Milan. The one look was enough. Milan, Emily said, only had one good painting in one church; other than that it was a dreary city where they'd spend all their time feeling fat and frumpy. Rory laughed and put her head on her grandmother's shoulder. They boarded the train for Rome, this time, the center of the rest of their trip.

"Oh, Grandma," she said. "Italy is going to be so much fun with you."

"You think we're up for it?" Emily asked.

"I think we've been on trains too long," Rory said. "But I think we are, yeah."

Emily put her arm around her granddaughter. "That is a very good thing," she said.


	16. Transitions and Expositions

Transitions and Expositions

Lorelai heard Luke before she saw him that morning as she approached the diner.

"For the last time, Taylor, no, you _cannot_ hang any signs inside, outside, or anywhere near the diner!" Luke bellowed. "It's right next door, for God's sake! Hang them in your own damned store!"

"It is a _shoppe,_ Luke, and it would double the exposure—"

"I heard you the first thirty times you said that, and I'm gonna say the same thing I said thirty times before: no, Taylor, absolutely not. _This_ is my diner," he said, pointing to the floor, "and _that_ is your store," pointing to the ice cream parlor next door, "and you can do your own damned advertising on your own property!" Luke waved the coffee pot menacingly. "Don't! Don't say another word, Taylor. It's always gonna be no."

Taylor drew himself up to his full height and assumed a dignified air. "Will you at the very least allow me to post a sign reminding people about the town meeting tomorrow evening?"

"Why do you have to put a sign up for that? Everyone knows there's a town meeting tomorrow."

"Yes, but tomorrow we have a special guest speaker, and I want to ensure that everyone—"

Luke held up his hand. "A paper sign, eight and a half by eleven, printed, black and white, in the front window. That's all you get." Taylor's eyes widened in delight. "For the _meeting only_, Taylor. And this is a one time thing, so don't go getting any ideas," he said.

Lorelai had watched the entire exchange from where she sat, perched at the counter. "That was very giving of you," she said, grinning.

Luke rolled his eyes and came to stand beside her. "Yeah, well. I'm in a giving mood," he said, pouring her a generous cupful.

She couldn't help smirking. "I remember." She sipped her coffee and shivered in happy surprise. "This is quite excellent today," she said.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, crossing to the other side of the counter.

"Yes, everything seems to be a little bit better today: the coffee tastes better, the air smells better, my skin is just _glowing,_ my hair has this just wonderful _bounce,_ I swear, there were even little bunnies lining Main Street today, playing flutes and dancing jigs," she said. "It's just the loveliest day. I could even break into song."

"Don't, I beg you," Luke drawled.

"I don't know what it is," Lorelai continued. "It must be just that I got such wonderful _sleep_ last night." She took another sip of her coffee and studied him over the rim of the cup: his face was set in an expression of irritation, embarrassment, amusement, and satisfaction combined.

He cleared his throat. "What'll you have?"

"Muffin and a coffee to go," she said.

"Listen," he said, as he prepared her order, "about that thing for Rory? I couldn't get the drawings done yet. I was a little late this morning."

"Oh? Why is that?" she asked.

"I _overslept,_" he said dryly, pushing the coffee and the bag containing her muffin toward her. "I'll get it to you later."

"Sure thing, Big Daddy," she said, sliding off the stool.

"Aw, geez, what did we say about that?"

Kirk looked up from his oatmeal. "Luke, I didn't know you had a nickname."

Luke glared at Lorelai as he answered. "I don't, Kirk."

"I thought that you and I had a closeness, Luke, that we would know these things about each other. You have, after all, seen me naked," he said.

"A fact I would really like to forget, Kirk, but I can't if you keep bringing it up," Luke said.

"Whatever you say, Big Daddy," Kirk replied.

"See what you've done?" Luke said. Lorelai gave him her best winning smile and backed towards the door.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said. "Big Daddy."

She was about to turn to go when he stopped her. "Lorelai," he called, jogging to her from behind the counter, "that thing you mentioned before."

"I remember," she said.

"Good. So if it happens again—"

"Again, I remember," she said. Lorelai peeked over her shoulder at Kirk, who was watching them with undisguised interest as he shoveled spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth. "Actually, I have something about that I need to ask you. Can I speak with you in private a moment?" She turned to Kirk. "It's inn business, in case you're taking notes," she said.

The oatmeal was suddenly the most fascinating thing Kirk had ever seen. Luke followed Lorelai to the pantry out back and crossed his arms over his chest, tipped his head back, and looked at her, waiting.

"There's more, huh?" he asked. "What, did he show up this time?"

Lorelai shook her head and put her breakfast on the table beside them. She took his face in her hands and lightly kissed him. "I love you for worrying," she said. "But it's so not a big deal. So he'll harass me for a few days, get tired of it, and give up. It's nothing. It's _annoying,_ yes, but nothing."

"It's deserving of a restraining order," Luke said darkly.

"Oh, please, like Digger Stiles is capable of stalking—Jennifer Love Hewitt probably couldn't get a restraining order against him for this sort of thing. But," she conceded, "I promise I'll call you if anything happens. _Anything,"_ she added, off his look.

"That's all I ask," Luke said, taking her in his arms and embracing her tightly. After a moment, he released her, handed her the coffee and muffin, and turned her in the direction of the door. "Now go to work," he said, smacking her lightly on the rear as she went.

"Sassy!" she hissed, laughing, tripping lightly back to the diner and out the door.

Lorelai sipped her coffee as she walked, swinging the take out bag against her leg. She found she couldn't stop smiling and felt like the cover story of a cheap women's magazine: "Love _and_ Sex!! 10 Easy Steps to a Better, Brighter You!!!" She cringed at the thought, but wondered what outfit would be best suited to such a cover. She remembered the pink, magnetic journal still shoved in the drawer of her bedside table.

Mentally, she turned the page.

_Dear Rory,_

_Clearly, I'm crap for writing—I don't know how I thought I'd have the patience, and I really don't think it's snobbery this time. It's just a total inability to sit down with pen and paper and write it down. I sit down to do it and there are ten other things waiting to be done instead. On the upside, at least I'm thinking about what I'd write down if I took the time to write it down._

_I'm going to be cheesy—apparently I can't stop being cheesy when it comes to this man—I don't know how I got along without him this way for as long as I did. I don't know why I didn't throw myself at him bodily the minute I thought I could feel something for him that wasn't quite friendly. God, when was that? Four years ago? Before? _

_He's right, though—and he's totally never going to hear it from me because, hello, that is not a pattern I wish to establish this early on—we probably weren't ready for each other. Maybe I needed to have that whole debacle with your dad happen, with Sherri and the baby, and maybe he needed to marry Nicole. Maybe life does have to kick you in the ass so hard you've toes in your eye sockets before you can really see or appreciate what you need. And, babe, he's it. Not just because he fixes things, though it's a bonus, or because he's always there for me at the right times, though, again, doesn't hurt, but because… I don't know, because he's who he is and I'm who I am and I simply can't fathom an existence that doesn't have him in it. Because I've always been afraid, I guess, too proud or too stubborn or too completely set in my ways to need someone or to want to need someone. Or to think that needing someone isn't weak._

_I told him before you left that you had turned into some sort of pod-Rory, you were so shell-shocked from the Dean fall-out. And here I am, pod-Lorelai, Stepfordian love-struck duck. The cool kids are totally gonna kick me out of their lunch table and I'm going to have to eat with the cheerleaders and let them braid my hair, while we giggle and show pictures of our guys and blush whenever anyone says a boy's name and call kissing "MO-ing." _

_Say hi to the cool kids for me. Tell them the cheerleaders don't suck too much when you're wasted enough._

_Love, Mom._

Sookie wasn't anywhere to be found when Lorelai reached the Inn, so she seated herself in the kitchen and opened the bag Luke had given her. Immediately, she whipped out her cell.

"Luke's."

"What the hell is this?"

"Lorelai?"

"Luke, I asked for a muffin. This—this—thing is not a muffin!"

He sighed. "It's a muffin. It's got a top and a bottom—I assure you, that's a muffin."

"It's a bran muffin, and that doesn't count," she said. "And what are those little things in the bag?"

"Grapes," he said.

"I know what grapes are, I'm talking about the drugs. I thought you were all, you know, _unnatural substances are bad,_" she said huskily, in her best Luke voice.

"They're not drugs, they're vitamins."

"What am I supposed to do with vitamins?"

"You take them. And then you eat the grapes and the muffin," Luke said.

"But it's a bran muffin!" she whined.

"It's got chocolate chips in it," he said.

"You made me a chocolate chip bran muffin?" she asked, smiling.

"Just eat it," he said, "and don't pick out the chocolate chips and just eat those, either."

"I'll eat it, but that doesn't mean I'll enjoy it. Just tell me why?"

"Because, as I have told you repeatedly in the past, eating crap all the time will kill you. And that, quite frankly, would be upsetting."

"That's very sweet of you to say," she teased. "I'll try."

She was picking at the muffin, eyeing it suspiciously when Sookie entered, talking to three of her kitchen staff, giving orders and waving her hands. Lorelai greeted her with a "Hey, Sook," and pinched off a piece of muffin.

"Oh, hey, honey," Sookie said, and looking at her friend, stopped so suddenly two of the assistants following her nearly fell over each other. "Out!" Sookie cried. "Everyone out! Out! Out! Out!" She herded them to the back door. "Out of my kitchen! Take ten!"

Lorelai stood. "Hey, what's all this? Sookie, breakfast starts in, like, forty minutes."

Sookie laid a finger over her lips and shut the back door behind the bewildered and departing kitchen staff before crossing the room and shutting the door that fronted the rest of the inn. She turned to Lorelai, pointing at her friend. "You had sex!" she said, her voice shrill. "You've been holding out on me!"

Lorelai's mouth fell open. "I have not!"

"You have too! You had sex! You had sex with _Luke_ and you didn't tell me!"

"It just happened," Lorelai said. "And how do you know?"

"Please, I can totally tell." Sookie rounded the counter and stood next to Lorelai, who seated herself again. "And? How was it? I bet it was fabulous. Was it fabulous?"

"Okay, Sookie, I've got to say, you're a little too interested. You and Jackson going through a dry spell?"

"This is not about me," Sookie said, her hands on her hips, "this is about you and all the sex with Luke. And no, Jackson and I are not going through a dry spell. I'm just dying of curiosity." She leaned in. "Does he wear the hat in bed?"

Lorelai laughed. "No, in fact, he doesn't." She popped a piece of the muffin in her mouth and pulled a face, trying to decide whether this was natural or completely unnatural curiosity.

"Lorelai, what are you eating?"

"It's a chocolate chip bran muffin."

"Oh, that is just wrong. Let me make you an omelet. That'd be better for you that than brick," she said. "So, tell me, tell me, tell me!"

"Take it down a notch, sister," Lorelai said. "You're weirding me out here."

Sookie stopped and leaned against the counter. "You know what it is? I've known Luke for years, right? But I sort of think of him the way you think about teachers when you're in grade school: they don't exist outside the school, so if you see them outside school in the normal world, it's very weird. He's _Luke_. Totally asexual, like a Ken doll. You strip him down and there's just plastic tighty whities," she said.

"Luke wears boxers," Lorelai said. "Wears them quite nicely, too."

Sookie pointed again. "See? Totally fascinating." She began to assemble ingredients for an omelet. "So? Tell me!"

Lorelai sighed. "It was—it was perfect. _Amazing._"

"Oh, sweetie, that's so great," Sookie sighed. "Go on."

"In the words of former pop sensation and current fashion mistake Paula Abdul, it was phuh-nomenal," Lorelai said. "I mean, it was so intense."

"What was?"

She grinned. "_Everything."_

Sookie held up her hands. "Thank you, and I'm done. That's all I need."

Lorelai tossed the muffin into the trash. "I don't know—I've been with men I've had feelings for before, but this was completely different. Like every single second of it _mattered_. You know?"

Her friend nodded sagely. "I know," she said. "That's how it is."

The two of them sighed together, their eyes focused on points in the distance. They were silent a moment. Sookie began to giggle.

"What?"

She bent over double, tittering with laughter. "I'm sorry. I just had a mental picture of Luke wearing boxers over his pants," she gasped.

Lorelai laughed. "I should go check in with Michel, see what's going on," she said.

"Wait, wait," Sookie said. "Intense, amazing, phuh-nomenal—"

"All of the above," she said. "And then some."

"Oh?" Sookie asked, grinning.

Lorelai hooked her thumb into the waist band of her skirt and lowered it, exposing the top of her hip. Sookie leaned forward. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Stubble burn. Add frisky to the list," she said.

Sookie stepped towards the stove. "Okay, now that was too much information," she said.

Lorelai rolled her eyes as she left the kitchen. "Now she tells me," she said. "I'll be right back."

Michel stood behind the desk, flipping through the pages of the reservation book. "Ah," he said, when Lorelai approached. "So we are done having secret meetings in the kitchen without me?"

"Oh, Michel, were you feeling left out?"

"No, actually, I was quite relieved," he said.

"So," Lorelai said, ignoring this, "how are we doing?"

"I have everything covered quite nicely," he said. "We have three more reservations for next week, and so now we are completely booked."

"I love hearing those words. Say it again."

"No."

"Oh, please Michel?"

"No." He turned the page. "We have openings beyond that, but it looks promising for the summer." He looked up. "You are standing too close to me," he said.

Lorelai rolled her eyes and made for the kitchen again. "Any calls?"

"A Jason called. Again," Michel said. "His voice is particularly irritating."

"I really have to agree. If he calls again, tell him I'm out for the day. But let me know anyway," she said. "And if my dad calls—"

"One moment, I must write this down," Michel said, standing completely still. "I would not want to forget any of these most important details."

"No calls from Jason," Lorelai said flatly.

"Perhaps I should stop taking calls altogether," he began.

Lorelai waved her hand at him as she walked away. "Thank you, Michel," she said. She flipped open her cell and speed dialed Luke, who grumbled. "Maybe I should just talk to him," she began.

"Don't give him any ideas," Luke said.

She sighed. "I guess," she said doubtfully. "All right, I have to go and do the whole work thing. I'll see you tonight," she said.

"I'll be here."

"Okay. Love you," she said.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. You, too," he said.

She giggled. "Oh, baby, you talk so sweet."

"I'm hanging up now," he said.

At the end of the day, Lorelai sat with Sookie on the back stairs of the porch, her shoes in one hand as she massaged the soles of her feet with the other. Dusk was falling, and as she looked at the expanse of the garden behind the building and listened to the clink of silverware coming from the dining room as dessert wound to a close, she sighed in contentment.

"I've never been so happy to be this tired after a day of work," she said. "Man, those people ran me ragged today." She looked at Sookie. "Is it me, or are there a lot of old people staying here right now?"

Sookie shook her head. "A lot of old people."

"Huh." They were silent. "We're not strictly an old people kind of place, right? I mean, our clientele won't always consist of septuagenarians named Winky Bedermeir, will it?"

"Maybe there's a reunion going on somewhere?"

"Wouldn't we have heard about that?" Lorelai asked.

Michel rounded the corner of the house. "I despise the elderly," he drawled. "I have answered too many questions today. My quota is filled for the next three weeks."

"Weird," Lorelai said. She rose. "I'm going to go grab some dinner. I'll see you both tomorrow?"

"And where else would I be?" Michel asked, just as Sookie said, "sure, sweetie. Get some rest."

The diner was not very full, but Lorelai sat at the counter anyway, resting her chin in her hands. Luke was absent. She was beginning to feel a twinge of impatient boredom when Lane emerged from the kitchen.

"Hi, Lorelai. Sorry to keep you waiting. Caesar blew up a bunch of baked potatoes in the oven," she said. "What can I get you?"

"I think I'm just going to have cheese fries."

"Got it," she said. "I'll tell Luke. He's back there dealing with the blasted remains." She turned to go, but stopped. "Hey, have you heard from Rory at all?"

Lorelai shook her head slightly. "Just a few phone messages. 'Hi, we're in Paris, it's great, call you in a few days.' 'Hi, we're in Rome, it's great, call you in a few days.' I feel like I'm playing 'Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego' with my voice mail. She calls at the weirdest times and I'm always missing her," she said wistfully.

"If do you talk to her—"

"I'll send her your love," Lorelai said.

"Thanks, Lorelai."

When she came back, Lorelai asked her how things were going with her mother, and Lane smiled a little. "We have tea twice a week, once at the house, once at the apartment. We haven't talked too much about all the stuff, you know," she said.

"Oh, believe me, honey, I know about all the stuff," Lorelai said.

"I don't know, she seems to be coming around a little. She even talks to Sally and Brianna."

"Sally and Brianna—I'm assuming you mean Zach and Brian," Lorelai said.

"We have to call them Sally and Brianna when Mama's around," Lane replied. "And it's become a whole new way of taunting each other when they play video games."

"You lead an interesting life, Lane Kim," Lorelai said.

Lane hugged herself. "Isn't it great?"

When Luke appeared from the kitchen, he took one look at Lorelai's plate and heaved a sigh. "That's what you're eating."

"I'm not hungry. I had to watch old people all day smacking their dentures—long story, but suffice to say I have developed a new devotion to flossing," she said. "God, this place is empty today."

"I know. I'm sending Lane and Caesar home already. Nothing to do but close up. I've got those things for you. For Rory," he added.

"Goody. You want to come over and show me, after you're done here? I can wait," she said.

Lorelai polished off her fries and a piece of pie as the last of the customers sauntered out. She sat at the counter, kicking her feet, studying the shelves opposite her as she waited. The bell rang over the door, and she turned and felt her stomach roll over. The young couple was deeply entrenched in conversation.

"I thought we were going out for dinner," Lindsay whined.

"We are going out for dinner," Dean replied.

"We're at _Luke's_," she said. "I thought you were going to take me somewhere romantic."

Lorelai took them in, how Dean's arm was around his young wife, the way she turned into him as she spoke, pushing her face into his shoulder. The tolerant smile on his face, the petulant note of her voice. The way Lindsay's hand rested on Dean's middle, just above his belt, pushing against the fabric of his tee shirt. The total ease of their posture. Lorelai found herself sitting ramrod straight, trying to compose her features. Lindsay saw her first.

"Oh, hey, Lorelai," she said. There was no smile in her voice. Lorelai thought she detected a slight sneer.

"Hi, Lindsay," she returned, her own voice carefully level. "Dean."

He nodded at her. "Hey. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. You?"

"Just grabbing some dinner," he said.

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "You _sure_ you want to eat here?"

"I _like_ Luke's," Dean said, and Lorelai noted the irritated edge to his words.

"The salads here suck," Lindsay replied. She looked at Lorelai. "I know that this is like, your heaven, and everything, but seriously? The salads suck."

Lorelai realized she was bobbing her head in response. "I wouldn't know—I don't do the salad thing."

Lindsay gave her an unconscious once-over with her eyes. "Lucky," she said.

They hung uneasily in the door for a moment. Lorelai felt the silence pressing against her ears. "I think Luke's closing up," she said, and her words felt abrupt even to her.

Dean's wife tilted her face to him. "Okay, _now_ can we go somewhere good?" she asked. "Dean?"

He was staring at Lorelai. He seemed to start and looked down at Lindsay. "Yeah. You choose, I'll drive."

The young girl grinned. "Excellent," she said. She threw a goodbye to Lorelai over her shoulder as she opened the door and stepped outside.

Dean paused, and shrugged apologetically at Lorelai. "See you, Lorelai."

"Bye, Dean," she said. She turned in her seat when they were gone and saw Luke standing in the door, wiping his hands on a towel. She shook her head at him. "Don't," she said softly.

"That shit needs a good kick in the ass."

Lorelai gave him a sad smile. "You know, I think he's an asshat, but I feel so sorry for that girl. I mean, it looks like they've sorted things out. For now, anyway. She doesn't have a clue—I'm just—I'm sad for her. And I'm really glad Rory's not here." She sighed. "They're all so young," she said.

"They're grown up enough," Luke said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay. Coffee?"

He poured her a cup, giving her the stink eye, but saying nothing. "I'll be out back."

"I'll wait," she said.

"You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic," she said. She raised her right hand. "I swear it." Off his look, she said, "Luke! I'm totally fine! Go!"

A moment later, Lane and Caesar filed past. She said goodbye to Lane and received a grunt of acknowledgement from Caesar as he left. She rose and wandered around the counter toward the kitchen. Luke was wiping the counter down.

"Hey," she said.

"What are you doing in the kitchen?"

She sidled up to him. "For all the secret nookie opportunities an illicit affair provides—"

"We're not having an illicit affair," he said.

"We really haven't actually had any secret nookie trysts," she said.

"Please stop saying secret nookie."

"Oh, come on, this will be our last chance before everyone finds out tomorrow," she said, taking his arms and sliding them around her.

"You really want to do this in the kitchen?" he asked.

"What, you don't?"

"We're in the kitchen, Lorelai."

She adopted an offended air and backed away. "I am offering myself to you, and you're shunning me because we're in the _kitchen?_"

"I'm not shunning you, I'm asking if you really want to do this in the kitchen. Where I prepare people's food. Food that people eat," he continued. "I'm not sure this is the best place to grab a quickie."

She burst out laughing. "Who said anything about a quickie? And who uses the word quickie? First of all, I don't _do_ quickies—"

"Noted."

"—and second of all, I'm just talking about good old fashioned groping. What the current residents at the inn would call necking," she said, "or parking, but without the car and here, in the kitchen."

"I got it."

"Oh, oh, canoodling," she said. "Or, better yet—"

"You sure you're okay?" he asked suddenly.

She sighed theatrically. "Luke, oy with the worrying already. I'm fine. Seriously. It's all good."

He put his hands on her waist but wouldn't meet her eye. "I get to worry now," he said.

She smiled, stepping towards him. "Yes. Within reason," she said. "Now, about this whole necking, non-parking-parking thing—"

"You want to talk about it or actually do it?"

She grinned. "Commence with the canoodling, mister," she said.

Luke half-sat on the countertop, balancing himself on his heels, his arms around Lorelai's waist. She wound her own arms around his neck and stood, straddling his legs, her skirt slightly hiked up around her thighs. She leaned into him, loving that she could kiss him this way with her eyes closed, long, slow kisses, kisses like conversation, sometimes thoughtful and deliberate, sometimes silly and light, but always articulate of something greater than what was simply being said. She laid one hand on his cheek, pressing closer as he slid his hand up under the hem of her shirt, teasing his fingers along her spine.

"Oh, my God."

Lorelai found herself suddenly frozen, all motion suspended. There was Luke's hand on her back, his other on her rear. Her she was, leaning into him, holding him to her. There they were together, mouth to mouth, eyes open, caught. Without thinking, they both pushed away from each other, Lorelai shoving herself off Luke, stumbling slightly over his legs as she stepped away, Luke banging his elbow as he rose. They stood, their eyes fixed to the ground, shuffling and guilty.

"Lane," Lorelai said, attempting to adjust her blouse. "Hey, sweetie. What's up?"

Lane stood, open mouthed, staring. She pointed to the back corner. "I forgot my set list."

Lorelai scrambled to retrieve it for her. Luke stood stock-still, his hands thrust into his pockets, his head down.

"I am so sorry," Lane said. "I had no idea—"

"Yeah, well, neither does anyone else," Lorelai said, smiling awkwardly. "No big. Just kissing. You know. Kissing. Kissing in the kitchen," she went on. "That's alliteration. It's a good, word, alliteration—"

"You want a raise, Lane?" Luke said abruptly.

Lane's jaw dropped further. "Really? I mean, no, you don't have to, I mean, I obviously wouldn't say anything, if that's what—"

"No, no," Luke said, "you just—you're a good worker, you deserve a raise, you can have one if you want it," he said. He began to wipe the counter down again as he spoke.

"Seriously?" she squealed. "I mean, that would be great—it would help so much, but I don't know if I feel right—"

"Lane, honey," Lorelai interrupted, "take it while you can get it."

"Done," she said. "Thanks, Luke." She took her papers form Lorelai and turned to go. "You can go ahead back to what you were doing. Your secret's safe with me. Not that there's a secret, or anything, obviously, but—"

"Lane," Lorelai said gently.

"Sorry," she said. "I'll—I'll go. I'll lock the door, too," she said.

The kitchen was silent for a moment after she was gone. Lorelai began to chuckle. She watched Luke, intently cleaning the sink, and began to laugh harder. He stopped and pointed at her.

"This is where secret nookie gets you!" he said.

She pointed back and couldn't speak for laughing. "You said nookie," she gasped. "That was so brilliant," she said. She began to laugh again. "You're a good worker?" she said. "That's the best you could do?"

"Alliteration?" he shot back.

Lorelai attempted to compose herself. She put her arms around him and kissed him lightly. "Kissing induces moronic tendencies," she said. "I'm going to before anyone else walks in and you offer to give them your year's profits. I'll see you at home." She paused in the door. "Secret trysts are fun. Or maybe it's the kissing. I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's the kissing."

"You're the only person I know who keeps talking after the conversation's over," he said.

"Oh, you know you love it," she called as she left.

He smiled, nodding.


	17. Bel Tempo

Bel Tempo

"Grandma, I have to say that with a few minor adjustments, this afternoon is so perfect, I'd be happy for it to go on forever," Rory said. "But I'm pretty sure eternal bliss doesn't include that kid over there with the whistle."

"Or that dreadful rash on your leg," Emily added. "Train travel is so terribly unhygienic." She sipped her water. "I am glad you're enjoying yourself, and I agree, this is very nice."

The two were seated at one of the outdoor tables of the cafes in Piazza della Rotunda. Emily had ordered them sandwiches and bottled water, surprising Rory with a smattering of fine-sounding Italian when she did. The piazza was crowded with tourists and the odd street performer and men selling small toys. It was hot, but the table where Rory and her grandmother sat seemed in the direct path of the only cool breeze in Rome. She attributed to Emily's stellar planning skills. Just that morning they had been settling themselves in the small apartment on the Aventine hill that she rented for the next four weeks and now they were here, outside the Pantheon, eating panini and lounging about with their sunglasses on like regular Romans.

"Grandma, I think you should find someone in the States to make panini like this and then send him or her to live with me at Yale," Rory said. "This is _so_ good. If you had told me that a sandwich that only had tomato and mozzarella and what is this, spinach?"

"Basil, dear," Emily smiled.

"Basil, then, without meat, could be this good, I would have pointed and laughed. But this is _so_ good." She put her food down and hugged herself. "This is just wonderful. Promise me it's going to rain while we're here, Grandma, because I want to see the Pantheon when it's raining."

"I imagine that the Pantheon is much the same when it's raining as when it's not," Emily said.

"But with the hole in the top? It's got to be so cool to stand in a building where it's raining inside and it's _supposed_ to," she said. "It didn't rain when Mom and I were here."

"And have you given any thought to speaking to your mother in the near future?" Emily asked, taking another sip of water. "Your calls have been conveniently timed to miss her."

Rory sighed. "I'm still sorting some things out, and I don't know—I think it's easier this way. I miss her, I do, but I'm doing okay without her," she said. "And I'm sure she's doing just fine without me."

Emily finished her water, uncrossed her legs, and reached for her purse. "Shall we go, then?" she asked.

Rory nodded. "I read about this gelateria that's just behind the piazza that's supposed to be amazing. Do you like gelato?"

"I can't say I've ever had gelato," Emily replied.

"It's better than ice cream," she said. "Mom and I practically lived off it last year when we were here. Can you believe that there's a McDonald's here? Why would you come all the way to Rome and to the Pantheon to eat at a McDonald's?"

Emily put her arm around Rory as they walked. "Some people like only what is familiar and comfortable," she said. "Although why McDonald's is either of those things to anyone is beyond me. I do not understand the allure of fast food."

The gelateria was a circus of colors and there were too many flavors to choose from, so Rory had a bowl of five—two kinds of chocolate, coconut, cherry, and café latte—while Emily settled on a modest two—mango and peach. They continued walking the side streets beyond the Pantheon, Emily marveling at the texture and the taste of the gelato.

"This is just delightful!" she said.

Rory laughed. "I think that's the first real smile I've seen you have on your face in two weeks, Grandma."

"I do like Rome," Emily said. "It's such a strange, wonderful city. All the churches and the old fashioned buildings and the beautiful people. It's so wonderfully old world and still _hip."_

Rory giggled. "It's hip, is it?" she asked. "Well, I'm glad. So," she said, linking her arm through her grandmother's, "we're in Rome until Friday, and then we're going to Florence for a few days?"

"And then I thought it would be nice to come back to Rome before we go to Venice, and there are so many places we can take day trips in the meantime," Emily said. "The convenience of having an apartment allows us to do just whatever we please. We could go to Naples, Capri—anywhere we wish. Pull out the guidebook this evening and we'll make ourselves a little itinerary."

"I thought you'd have everything all planned out," Rory told her. "I was sure we were going to have a whole schedule of things to do, museums and shopping and everything."

Emily tossed her empty gelato cup into a waste bin as they passed and sighed. "I thought it might be restful to be without a schedule for a little while. It's been a very long time since I've woken up in the morning without a plan for the day or the one after. It can be quite exhausting to know what you're going to do at every moment of the day—overwhelming. This way we can live like ladies of leisure," she said. "I used to love watching movies when I was young with beautiful women in beautiful dresses, who didn't seem to have anything to do. Or they did glamorous things and wore glamorous clothes, like Grace Kelly in _Rear Window._"

"What did you want to do when you were younger, Grandma? When you grew up, what did you want to be?" It occurred to Rory she'd never asked her grandmother such a question before.

"Oh, I wanted to Queen Elizabeth. The first, mind you. I thought that would be very fine," Emily said.

"You wanted to be Queen of England?"

Emily held Rory's arm tightly in her own. "Oh, you know, some silly fantasy like that, I suppose. It really seemed like a perfect lifestyle—she ruled the country, she made decisions, she wrote poetry and speeches and she was educated and powerful. She had quite a life, if I remember my history rightly."

"But she never had any children or got married," Rory said. "Didn't you want a family?"

Emily conceded that she did. "But when you're ten or twelve or sixteen, you want to be all kinds of things. I also wanted to be the woman with the tail-feather skirt at the circus, or an actress like Bette Davis—"

"You did not want to be Bette Davis. Choose someone less scary," Rory said.

"Oh, Katharine Hepburn, then. Or a writer—we all have our little lists of 'if I could be anything, I'd be…' Mine was just like anyone else's," Emily said.

"I think the tail-feather skirt thing is pretty unique," Rory replied. She yawned.

"Let's get a taxi and go back to the hotel, have a nice little nap before dinner, shall we?" Emily said.

In the cab, Rory watched the city spinning past her, the wedding cake monument of the Victor Emmanuel, the Circus Maximus. She tilted her head to look at Emily, who sat primly beside her, her hands folded in her lap as she, too, looked out the window. She caught Rory's eye.

"The taxi drivers in this city must have a pool to see who can scare the most people to death yearly," she whispered.

Rory smiled. "You can be a writer, you know, Grandma."

"Excuse me?"

"It might be a little late to do the whole tail-feather, Bette Davis thing, but you could be a writer. All you need is paper and pen," she said.

Her grandmother reached out and put her hand against Rory's cheek. "It must be lovely to be young," she said.

_Dear Mom,_

_The gelato's still the best here. If I could, I would bring some home for you. _

_I think Grandma needs this trip as much as I do. I think we all must forget who we are, sometimes, and need to remember. I keep thinking about traveling, and how when we went on our trip we had to see everything and be everywhere and do everything, and how this trip is just about being still in one place. I remember how I told Headmaster __Charleston__ that I wanted to be sure to see things—I think I had a different idea what that means then. There's seeing things from the outside, from being separate, and then there's seeing things while trying to participate in them, to learn them the way they are and not the way you expect them to be when you're outside looking in. _

_Miss you._

_Rory._


	18. Past Indiscretions

Past Indiscretions

Lorelai had gone straight to the Dragonfly from home that morning, having had her fix of Luke's coffee—and Luke himself—in her own kitchen before she left. Luke had walked back to town before she woke. They had been lucky: the one night he'd left his truck parked out front all night, Babette had been in Boston with Morey for a gig and mornings like this he'd been able to get away unnoticed. After Lane's sudden appearance during their canoodling the night before, they'd briefly discussed the ramifications of publicizing their relationship.

"I don't really give a shit who knows," Luke had said, "I just don't want people pinching my cheeks and stuff. Patty even touches me once—"

"You'll take it with a grimace, just like you always do," Lorelai said. "But people aren't just going to know, this being Stars Hollow and all—people are going to _talk._"

"Like I said, I don't really give a shit. As long as I don't have to listen," he added. "Ah, crap," he said, realizing the likelihood of this.

"I willingly accept any advance apology you'd like to offer for grumpiness, crankiness, moodiness, and general cantankerousness in the near future," she told him.

"That's very gracious of you."

"I know," she said.

By noon, she had a tension headache and a slight twinge in the back of her neck. The Inn was still full of fractious elderly people who demanded attention left and right, who, when left to their own amusement, would attempt to peek in doors labeled "Employees Only," and who had taken a particular shine to Lorelai and asked for a tour of the town in the afternoon, Lorelai acting as tour guide. She could think of thirty thousand other things she'd rather do than traipse around Stars Hollow in her new pink suede pumps with a bunch of gum-smacking fogies and in a moment of desperation, called Taylor.

"Taylor, no one knows this town better than you do," she said. "You could practically write the textbook on Stars Hollow. It would mean so much to them. And you'd be compensated for your time, obviously."

"Compensated in what way, Lorelai? Assuming I agree to do this," he added, "which is a very large assumption. I have two businesses to run and a town meeting to plan for this evening, and I am currently the chair of several, make that many committees—"

"Taylor, on any other day, I would never, ever say these words to you, but I'm saying them now—anything you want, you can have it," Lorelai said. "Just please, take these people and show them around."

She could practically hear the wheels turning. "All right, Lorelai. If you can convince Luke to advertise for my shoppe's Start of Summer Blow Out Extravaganza in the diner for at least the next two weeks, I will take your guests on a detailed guided tour of Stars Hollow."

Lorelai furrowed her brow and stuttered a moment. "Taylor, what makes you think I can do that? I mean, I'm multi-talented, this is true, but I'm hardly capable of achieving the impossible, which is basically what you're asking."

"Oh, Lorelai, I'm sure you have your _ways,_" he said in what she was horrified to find a knowing tone.

"I'll call you back," she said, and hanging up, immediately hit the speed dial.

Luke answered on the first ring.

"Okay, something screwy is going on here," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Taylor seems to think I can convince you to advertise something for his store in the diner. He says I have _ways,_" she said. "He can't know. I mean, it's not possible."

"Hang on." She heard muffled noises and shuffling and an exasperated _quit it, Kirk_ before the line went clear again. "People have been looking at me all day," he said.

"That's 'cause you're so pretty," she told him.

"No, I mean, people have been _looking_ at me, like looking funny. And whispering. I think they know," he said.

"How can they know?" Lorelai demanded, already on her way to the kitchen. "You hang on," she said, pressing the phone to her chest. She pulled Sookie aside. "Please, tell me you did not tell Jackson about me and Luke. Or tell me that if you told Jackson about me and Luke, that you either did a special forgetting spell on Jackson so that he wouldn't be able to tell people about me and Luke because he couldn't remember you telling him about me and Luke, or you promised him to such total secrecy that were he to tell someone, all of his plants would wither up and grow hair," she said.

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard," Sookie said. "Hairy vegetables." She shuddered. "Although, carrots, right?"

"Sookie!"

She spread her hands. "I didn't tell! I swear! I really, really want to tell, but I know how important this is to you, so I didn't tell him." She paused. "I told Davey, but I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't tell."

"You didn't tell Davey anywhere where there was a baby monitor that Jackson could hear, did you?"

"Jackson wasn't even in the house—he was outside in the strawberry patch. I swear, Lorelai," Sookie said.

Lorelai held out the phone. "Swear to Luke."

Sookie leaned towards the phone, and in a loud voice, said, "I swear, Luke, I didn't tell Jackson."

When Lorelai put the phone back to her ear, Luke was muttering about blown eardrums. "So, there's that," she said. "How else?"

"Lane?"

"Oh, she wouldn't," Lorelai breathed.

"You sure?"

"What, after all the hush money you offered? Never," she said. "Besides, Lane's not the type to go spreading secrets. You know that."

"I do," he said.

They were silent a moment. Simultaneously, they drew a breath. "Kirk," they said.

"Kirk," Lorelai groaned.

"Kirk. I'm gonna—"

"Say nothing," she pleaded. "Pretend like you don't think they know, okay? We can still maintain our dignity," she said. "Unless you give in and let Taylor advertise his sale in the diner so that all the old people will follow him around instead of me."

"What?"

She explained. "Please, Luke? I'm begging you. Please, please, _please_," she said, "you have no idea what it's like up here. I feel like I'm in _Cocoon _and they want me to join them. Or like I'm a particularly delicious-looking bowl of Cream of Wheat. Please?"

Luke heaved an agitated sigh. "One sign," he said. "One. Placed at my discretion."

"If you were here, I'd stick my tongue down your throat in thanks and gratitude," Lorelai said. "You have no idea what you've done."

"I think you're probably right about that," he said.

She took the needed respite from the guests to spend time in the back office, crunching numbers. The inn was beautiful, people were staying, Sookie was cooking, Michel was standing behind his desk, but the work wasn't done yet. Lorelai sighed. There were so many things to consider before they could say they had broken even. They had a mortgage, a bank loan, a staff to pay, the upkeep of the Inn, plus Luke's loan… She put a hand to her forehead. She wanted to sink into bed, alone, for a few hours, to wrap herself in cool sheets and sleep dreamlessly a while. She needed time to gather herself together. She was happy, she knew she was happy, and she was more than glad she was happy. She was, however, vaguely aware that being happy had narrowed her view a bit, obscured the things on the edges that needed to be thought over as well. _Dear Rory,_ she thought, _can happiness be self-destructive?_

Taylor had led her senior citizens on their tour at three o'clock. They hadn't returned by five-thirty, when Lorelai locked up her office and set out for the diner. As she made her way up Main Street, she suddenly knew what Luke was talking about. People were looking at her, and not just looking at her, she thought, but _looking_-looking at her. She was grateful for the ring tone sounding in her purse. She snapped the cell open without checking the caller ID.

"Lorelai, this is your father," he said, and she smothered a smile. She could be in a hole in the ground and hear that voice from a distance of fifty feet and still know it was him, but he insisted on identifying himself this way every time he called.

"Hi, Dad. How are you doing?" she asked, slowing her steps. She admired her new shoes, a self-congratulatory indulgence for the opening of the inn.

"Oh, getting along, I suppose," he replied. "I was wondering if you were free for dinner this evening."

"Tonight? Oh, Dad, I actually—well, I don't have plans, really, but there's a town meeting in about an hour that I need to go to. The mayor has some guy lined up to give a talk to local business owners, and I need to be there," she said.

"Oh, well. You are having dinner, I presume, in spite of this meeting?" Rihard asked.

"Yeah, I'm actually on my way to Luke's." She looked up at the sign over the diner and dawdled, toeing the sidewalk. "Why?"

"It's just that I'm passing through your area just at this moment and I thought perhaps we could join each other for dinner. I could come to this Luke's. I certainly have no plans and if you have no plans—"

"No, Dad, I don't have plans, but are you sure? I mean, it's nothing fancy, it's just a diner. Good food, and everything, but not gourmet cuisine," she said. The day was turning increasingly bizarre.

"Well, that sounds just fine to me. I could do with some good, plain food, myself. Whereabouts is this diner?" he asked.

Lorelai gave him directions and then entered the diner. She seated herself and waited, wondering. When Luke appeared with the coffee pot, she looked up.

"Did my dad seem healthy to you the last time you saw him?" she asked.

"Healthy? How do you mean?"

"I mean, did he seem like he was dying?"

"Lorelai, I don't have the first idea—"

"It's just that he asked me to have dinner with him tonight, and then he agreed to do it here. I can only assume that the man's dying, if he's asking me to spend time with him on purpose and agreeing to do it on my own turf—"

"This is my turf," Luke said.

"Whatever, Bernardo," Lorelai said. "It's just weird." She put her face in her hands. "God. I just want the world to stop for just one second so I can breathe. All day, it's been one thing after another, you know?"

He eyed the soda shoppe next door. "Believe me, I know."

"I so appreciate what you did for me, by the way. I can't tell you," she said.

"Not a big deal. What'll you have?"

"Burger. Fries. Nothing fancy," she said.

"You sure about that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't do that—don't pull the healthy thing on me. Burger. Fries. That's what I want," she said. "Okay?"

"Whatever you say," he grumbled.

"Oh, I like that," Lorelai said. She looked past Luke and saw her father standing uncertainly in the doorway. She rose and waved him over. "Dad, hi. Come sit. You're just in time to order."

Luke and Richard shook hands. "Sir," Luke said, by way of greeting.

"Please, call me Richard."

Luke swallowed and gestured for the older man to sit. "What can I get you, sir?"

"What is my daughter having this evening?"

"Burger. Fries. Nothing fancy," Luke said, eyeing Lorelai darkly. She smirked.

"Well, that sounds just fine. I'll have the same."

Luke turned for the kitchen and Lorelai sat with her father, tapping her fingers nervously against the tabletop. "So, Dad," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm just fine, thank you. Why do you ask?"

She tugged the ends of her hair, pulling until her eyes smarted. "No reason. So. What's new with you?"

"Business is the same as always," he said. "And yourself? How are things at the Inn?"

Lorelai shook her head. "Crazy weird right now, actually. Lots of old—senior citizens," she said, correcting herself. "They keep me busy." She paused. "Dad, I don't know how to say this without being rude or hurting your feelings—" she began.

He leaned back in his chair. "And so it begins," he said.

"I'm just—I'm wondering what's with the sudden olive branch. You and I have never been especially forthcoming with each other, if we're honest about things, but I know how you feel about the way that I've gone about things in the past and just recently with Jason and everything, and I know what you think about that relationship and how it was handled. What I don't know is what's changed, why you're out here, why you wanted to have dinner. I know you're lonely, and I'm sorry that you and Mom are separated, but I just—why am I the one you want to spend your time with?" she asked.

Richard smoothed the front of his shirt with the palms of his hands. Lorelai could see the thoughts being gathered and lined up in the appropriate order. "It must be said that you're right about many things, Lorelai. I do not know that reparations can ever be made for certain things, and I know that you and I will most likely never see eye to eye when it comes to things best left in the past."

"Or eye to navel," Lorelai said.

"However, that said, there are certain _other_ past events, that, when considered with rational distance, must be reevaluated and properly weighed," he continued, as though she had not spoken. "Events that, when put in the appropriate context—"

"Dad," Lorelai said. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Richard sighed. "It was wrong of you to conceal your relationship with Jason, Lorelai. And I certainly did not appreciate you coming into my house and asking me to reconsider my association with Floyd in light of your situation with him. However, I do not think that either of us acted well in that matter, Lorelai."

Lorelai bit her lip. "No, Dad, I can't say that we did."

"Your mother has left me, Lorelai."

"I know, Dad," she said gently. "I'm very sorry."

"There are many reasons for this, of course. This was not the easiest of years for us. However, I have come to see that my treatment of you during the business debacle with Floyd and Jason was perhaps that which most offended her." Richard pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "It is not my idea of an enjoyable time to discuss such things."

"Could have had me fooled, Mr. Hope," Lorelai said. She caught his eye. "Sorry," she said.

"I have rebuked you, and harshly, too, for running away from us after Rory's birth. I have told you that we did nothing to deserve such treatment, and that the distance you put between yourself and your parents during Rory's childhood was equally cruel. While I don't dispute that you have done well for yourself or that Rory is an exceptional, remarkable human being, I still maintain that those things are true. I say this," he said, putting up a hand as the color rose in Lorelai's cheeks, "as a preface, Lorelai. Please remain calm." He sighed. "I was prepared to force that distance again by going back into business with Floyd. It was within my power to prevent it, and I did nothing. You came to me and asked me for lenience, and I showed none for you. It was unforgiving of me, Lorelai. I did something that could potentially displace someone you cared for from your life with very little regard as to how it would affect you. I did it to protect what was mine."

Luke arrived and placed their orders in front of them. He refilled Lorelai's coffee cup and turned without speaking, for which Lorelai was grateful. The very air between herself and her father seemed laden with something—it was not quite clarity, nor was it forgiveness. She absently stirred sugar into her coffee and her father picked up his burger.

Richard looked at his daughter. "I do not see that you and I are so entirely different," he said. "But I should have known better." He was quiet several moments. Lorelai was unsure what to say, and she picked at her food, waiting for him to speak again. "That was what drove your mother out, after all these years."

"So, what are you doing here, then, Dad? Clearly, you still have issues with me. Clearly, you don't approve—"

"Lorelai, it has nothing to do with whether or not I approve of your life! It has everything to do with accepting it anyway, which is what your mother has come to do and which I could not. You never quite see, do you, my dear?" he asked wearily. "At the end of your life, everything you have is dust but family, Lorelai. I allowed myself to forget that and your mother did not. I almost deprived her of her family." He met Lorelai's eyes. "I almost did the same to myself."

Lorelai looked away. "Dad, I'm sorry. I just don't understand what you're trying to tell me. You want to make peace with me because you think it'll help you repair your marriage? I'm sorry if that doesn't sound too appealing to me."

He restrained himself from slamming his hand to the table. "Damn it all, Lorelai," he breathed, "I am trying to make an _effort_ here, to change, for all our sakes. Your mother may never take me back. I hate to think of it," he said, his voice faltering, "but that is a truth that I can't seem to get around. But you and Rory, the both of you are still my family regardless. Your mother, the past years have softened her, she's come to depend on both of you so—" He stopped. "I am not saying that we have to make peace, Lorelai."

"So, what are you saying?"

"We may never agree with each other on anything—"

"Which might actually be something we can agree on, ironically," Lorelai said, smiling faintly.

"—but that is irrelevant to the fact that we are family. Blood. We must make an effort," he said. "That is all."

Lorelai took a breath. "Okay. Okay, Dad." She picked a French fry off her plate and waved it in front of her for a moment. "I hope it all works out for you, Dad, I do. You should be together."

"Yes, well," Richard said, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Tell me about this town meeting."

She rolled her eyes. "Something to do with insurance, local business responsibilities—I don't know." She checked her watch. "I should get going soon, though."

"I'll come with you. It is, after all, my area. Perhaps I could be of some assistance to you," he said.

"Oh, Dad, you don't have to do that," she said.

"Nonsense. I would be happy to help, if I could."

"Thanks, Dad."

The meeting hall was full as always that evening. Lorelai and her father sat in the third row, seated directly behind Luke. Lorelai could tell just from the back of Luke's head he was tense already. She leaned towards her father and told him to expect the bizarre—Stars Hollow town meetings were not those of other towns. He nodded sagely, as though this was not new information to him. Taylor mounted the podium and swelled his chest out, looking out over the town. He called them to order.

"As promised, we have a speaker this evening, here to inform us about the liabilities and responsibilities of local proprietors regarding insurance," he said. "We are lucky to have this intelligent young man with us this evening, so please, people, show a little respect, would you?" And with that, he stepped back and introduced Jason Stiles.

Lorelai went cold all over. She felt the blood drain from her face. Her mouth fell open and she found herself staring dumbly at Jason as he stood before the room, dressed in his best suit, smiling gregariously. She wanted to rise but found herself unable to find her legs, her arms—she was vaguely aware that she still had her limbs, but could not remember how to use them. Luke was already on his feet.

"Ah, what the hell is this?" he asked, prevented from approaching the raised podium by the presence of Joe and Andrew on either side of him.

As Jason began to speak, a slight ripple of whispers went through the room that this was Lorelai's ex, that he had been at the inn on the night of naked Kirk. Jason raised his hands and asked for quiet.

He turned to Taylor and bowed his head slightly in recognition. "I cannot thank Mr. Doose enough for kindly engaging me to speak to you all tonight. If I were worth the money he paid me at all, I would of course lecture you on your obligation as local businesses in insurance practices. However, I am unfortunately, not worthy of that sum and am here to plead my case on another matter altogether."

Taylor rose. "Now, just a minute here, young man—"

"Mr. Doose, have you ever been in love?" Jason asked.

Luke was still attempting to climb over Andrew and Joe and the other few people that blocked his path. "Would you just shut the hell up?" he bellowed. "Taylor, get that guy off the stage!"

Lorelai was aware of her father rising to his feet as well. She put her hand on his arm and raised herself slightly, saying Luke's name weakly. Luke turned to her, his face dark with anger. "Just let him do whatever he's come to do," she said, finding her voice. "He won't stop until he's done."

Jason beamed. "Thank you, Lorelai. I ask again, Mr. Doose, if you've ever been in love?"

Taylor looked ready to pop his buttons, inflated with hot rage. "I certainly don't see how that's anyone's business," he said.

"No, no, I don't suppose it is," Jason said amiably, as though this were ordinary board room discussion. "But don't worry, you'll be fully refunded your speaking fee. I am here, ladies and gentlemen, not to discuss insurance—really, who can think about such things when he's in love?"

"Ah, for crying out _loud!_" Luke bellowed, still standing. "Lorelai, are you really going to put up with this shit?"

"Luke, stop," she said, her eyes closed.

He shut his mouth and looked at her, puzzled and hurt. He sat.

"For I am in love, Stars Hollow, with one of your own. Lorelai Gilmore—I'm a mess. I am simply a mess. I know you think that there's irreparable damage that's been done, I know you think it's all over, but Lorelai, we were _good_ together. We could be again. I know, I know, 'we broke up,'" he said, making air quotes with his fingers, "but it's been a month, and if anything, my feelings for you are more intense than they were when you walked out of that coffee shop. Please, Lorelai. We belong together—I need you in my life. All I'm asking for is a second chance, and I'm doing it here, in front of all these people, people you know and trust, because this way? You can't say no," he said.

"And that's what you want, Jason? You want me to give you another chance by denying me the choice of doing otherwise? Don't you think there's a little something wrong with that?" she cried. "You need to let this go, Jason. And if this is where it needs to happen, this is where it needs to happen. I can't be with you. I don't want to be with you. It's as simple as that. You say we were good together—what were we any good for, Jason? Sneaking around? Showing how witty we are? Feeling superior? That's not a relationship, Jason—that's a game."

"Is that really what you think?" he asked. "You think that's all we were together?"

"That _is_ all we were together, Jason. And I need more than that," she said. "I need to be _bigger_ than that."

"So you didn't care about me at all, is that what you're saying?"

"That has nothing to do with it—"

"Just answer the question, Lorelai," he said.

Her eyes faltered. "I don't know that I did, Jason. I'm sorry." She felt the heat in her skin now, the flush to her hairline. She was achingly conscious of the eyes on her, of her father beside her. She shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't know how to make that better, I really don't. I wish I could. I'm sorry."

Jason paced the stage for a moment. "So this is it, then, Lorelai? This is it. This is how you're going to end things."

She stamped her foot. "For God's sake, Jason, _you _ended things when you attacked my family! How many times do I have to say that? I am not the one responsible here—that's you, that's all you. I had to walk away, you gave me no choice. I'm sorry if that hurts you, I'm sorry you can't let go, but there's nothing more to do here. You can't make it better. This isn't some big romantic gesture. It's sad. You need to move on. I have."

Jason flung his arm in Luke's direction. "With Diner Guy," he spat.

Lorelai balled her hands into fists and she leaned forward, as though ready to attack. "For the last fucking time, his _name_ is _Luke!"_ she shouted. "This has gone on long enough. I think you need to leave."

Luke was on his feet again, his chair pushed back. Lorelai edged forward as she yelled, and he put his arms around her, restraining her. Jason watched them both, his eyes ablaze.

"I hope you're very happy together," he said icily. "I just hope you're prepared, Luke, is it?"

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Lorelai asked.

Luke shushed her. "It's not worth it," he said, his voice low.

"I think you know exactly what it means, Lorelai. You'll ask him to keep the relationship secret a while. You'll come up with reasons not to tell people—it's too good the way it is, telling people will ruin it. But really, you're ashamed," Jason said. His voice dripped with acid and bile, and he spoke quickly, words falling off his tongue, words that seared Lorelai's skin as they were spoken.

The room was deadly still as he spoke. The entire scene was a car accident—no one could turn their heads, move, advance, fixated as they were on the carnage unfolding before them.

"Oh, and don't feel bad, Luke, it's not you she's ashamed of—she's ashamed of herself. She is, you know, because she's just using you—a good fuck or two every now and again, witty repartee, that's really all she needs you for. Anything more than that requires an emotional commitment," Jason continued. "That's why she wants you to keep it a secret, not because it's fun or it's good for the relationship, no, but because you're not actually having a relationship—you're just fucking, and that's all she needs. Scratch the itch—"

Lorelai had felt herself falling from Luke's arms as Jason spoke, felt Luke step away from her. She had grabbed his shoulders, pulled him back, saw Joe and Andrew restrain him from leaping over the chairs in front of him. She felt rather than saw the crowd suddenly pressing forward, some attempting to advance, others trying to hold them back. She didn't notice her father disappear from her side, didn't see him pushing people aside as he mounted the podium, didn't see him until his fist connected square with Jason's jaw and Jason fell to the floor mid-sentence.

"Dad!" she cried.

Richard shook with anger where he stood. "Someone get this man out of here!" he shouted, pointing. "How dare you, Jason Stiles? You bastardly—"

"Dad!" Lorelai cried again. "Don't!" She pushed herself through the crowd and grabbed her father's hand. "You have a heart condition," she said. "We have to get out of here," she said wildly, tugging his hand, pulling him towards the door. "I have to get out of here." Richard put his arm around Lorelai as they stumbled to the door, clutching each other. "I have to get out of here," she said again.

The night was cool and it was only when they were out of doors that Lorelai realized she had been crying. A breeze played over her cheeks and she put her hand to her face, feeling hot, salty tears on her skin. "Oh, God," she said. "Oh, God. I have to get home. Daddy, I have to get home," she said. She pulled away from him, unable to feel the burden of his arm across her shoulders.

"Lorelai!"

She was already turned in the direction of her house when she heard his voice. She looked about her, disoriented. The denizens of Stars Hollow flooded out the doors of the meeting hall, swarmed over the front lawn, and her only thought was to get away, to be away, to be where no one could see her. Luke took her by the elbow and steered her around the side of the building.

"Are you okay?"

She was sobbing now, shaking her head, taking huge, ragged breaths. "I have to go home," she said. "I have to—"

"I'll take you home," he said, reaching out to her.

She stepped back, throwing her arms in front of her. "No. I can't. I just—" She looked at him and stepped back again, wiped her face, smoothed her hair. She tried to slow her breathing. "Take my dad somewhere. Hartford, the Inn, Sookie's place, anywhere, I don't care, I just—I can't—I have to—"

"Lorelai," he said, moving towards her.

"Don't touch me," she said. "Take care of my dad. I can't be here," she said. She looked down at her feet and began to giggle shrilly. "I have new shoes on," she told him. She reached down and slid them off her feet. "Take them," she said, her voice pitched high and uneven. "Take them. I'm going home."

He called after her as she ran for home.


	19. Stalemate

Stalemate

Lorelai wasn't thinking clearly when she reached home. The door wouldn't open—she couldn't get the door open. After a few moments of struggling, she realized it hadn't been locked and her fussing with the key had locked her out. She fell into her entryway and yanked the phone out of the wall. She discarded her coat, her skirt, her top, her underwear and bra as she tripped up the stairs to the bathroom. She wrenched the hot water tap on in the shower and stood under the spray, shivering. When she looked down, she realized her feet were bleeding. She began to cry.

After a moment, she gathered herself together, turned off the tap, and wrapped herself in a towel. She sat on the edge of the tub and examined the soles of her feet—there were too many tears and cuts to count, but nothing deep. She reached for a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and cried out as she poured it over her skin, watching the liquid foam over her wounds.

In all her life, Lorelai could never remember feeling more torn open, more exposed than she had in the moment Jason delivered his speech in the town hall. She sat, naked, in the bathroom, staring at the tile on the wall opposite her and tried not to think about what he had said, that she had run away, that she was sitting where she was, that she was soaking wet and freezing. She pulled herself to her feet and walked gingerly down the stairs.

Her cell phone had slid out of her purse and across the floor when she dropped it. She located it after a few moments of searching and opened it, dialed.

Rory answered on the fourth ring, just before the voice mail would turn on. "Mom?"

"Hey, babe. How's Rome?"

"Rome is beautiful. Grandma and I are having such a good time." She paused. "Mom, not that I'm not glad to talk to you, but is everything okay? You sound upset, and it's like one in the morning, here."

Lorelai put her hand to her forehead and drew a shaky breath. Her throat was closed with tears. She held the phone away from her as she swallowed so Rory wouldn't hear. "I totally forgot about the time difference, babe, I'm so sorry. Go back to sleep."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine, sweetie. Go to sleep."

"But—"

"Hey, we'll talk later. Call me before you leave for Florence, huh?"

"Mom—"

"Night, babe."

She clicked the phone shut and turned it off. "That was a mistake," she said aloud. _Dear Rory,_ she thought, _My brain has entirely vacated my body. Nice talking to you. Love, Your Idiot Mom._

She allowed herself a moment of deep, shuddering breaths, feeling her whole body rocked as she attempted to draw air into her lungs. She then picked herself up and squared her shoulders before returning to the bathroom, taping up her feet as best she could, tying her hair back, and washing her face in ice cold water. When she looked in the mirror, she could see her veins through her skin.

She dressed in soft cotton pajamas and waited on the couch with the curtains drawn. She heard Morey and Babette arrive home, chattering loudly, Babette wanting to check up on her, the mumble of Morey's low voice, incomprehensible from where she sat. She heard three cars pass, saw the headlights arc across the wall in front of her. She sat in the dark, Indian style, a pillow hugged to her chest. He came just when she knew he would.

Luke didn't turn on the lights or sit beside her. He stood awkwardly by the arm of the couch.

"Your dad's at my apartment," he said.

She nodded. "Thank you. How is he?"

"He's shook up, but he's fine." Luke paused. "I gave him some whiskey. He's out like a light."

"Good."

"Taylor had the guy arrested. He's being held overnight."

"What's the charge?" she asked.

"Fraud."

Lorelai snorted slightly. "Right," she said.

"Are you okay?"

She blinked. She hadn't looked at him yet. There was a spot on the wall opposite her that was raised slightly, a hitch in the sheetrock, a bubble in the paint. "I'm fine."

"Lorelai," he said. "Tell me what you need."

She lifted her eyes to him. "I need you to go away. I need to be left alone awhile."

Even in the dark, she could see the hurt. "What?"

"I want to be alone."

"Lorelai—"

"Luke. I want to be alone. I need you to turn around, and I need you to go."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "For how long?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Don't do this, Lorelai," he said. "I know you're upset, but don't do this."

"Don't do what?" she asked.

"Don't shut me out. I'm here to help," he told her.

In her laugh was all the bitterness her kisses had lacked. "Oh, honey," she said, "what is there to help? It's already been said. It's already out there."

He swallowed thickly. "You're upset. I get that. Just tell me what I can do."

"I already did. I need to be alone," she said.

"Okay, you're starting to piss me off now," he told her. "You do this, you tell me to leave, and he gets what he wants—he hurts you, he hurts us. You think I care about anything he said up there? You think I believe any of it's true?"

Lorelai unfolded herself and rose, padded over to the window on her taped-up and bleeding feet. "What did he say that wasn't true? That I was using him? That I was ashamed of myself? That a good fuck every now and again is all I really want from a man?"

"Lorelai—"

She put her hands to her face. "God, Luke, I beg you, _please_ stop saying my name like that."

"None of that is true," he said.

"But it is. I don't know that I would have chosen those particular words or phrased it exactly the way he did, but he didn't say anything that wasn't true. He didn't _lie_. Maybe I didn't realize it at the time—doesn't make it less true, does it? I said it myself: I don't care about him, I didn't care about him. I was sleeping with him, and I didn't care. I meant it: it wasn't a relationship, it was a game," she said. "God, I'm like—I can't even think of some slutty celebrity of the top of my head, sleeping with the nearest warm body for fun, but I'm sure there's one out there, and I'm just like her." She looked at him. "Hell, if I didn't realize I was using him for sex, what does that say about us?"

He took a step forward and stopped when she raised her hand. "That doesn't say anything about us," he told her. "We're completely different. You know that."

"I don't know that, apparently. Weren't you listening? How do you know I'm not using you?" she asked.

"Because you're not. I know you're not."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean, how do I know? I know because I know, that's how I know! I know because I love you and you love me, and that's not just physical and it's not just about fucking, it's about something bigger than the both of us and you know it just as well as I do!" he cried.

"Do I?"

"I think you do. You told me, you told me you needed me, you told me not to go anywhere, you made me promise—Lorelai, what the hell are you doing? What's really going on here?"

The pleading edge to his voice turned her stomach over. She put her hand to her mouth, afraid she would be sick. After a moment, she spoke.

"Tell me why you love me," she said.

"What?"

"Why? Why do you love me?"

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Jerry Seinfeld," she said. "Tell me."

He paced a moment, shifting his weight, searching for the words. "I don't know, because I do. Because you are who you are and you can't help that, and you can't help who you love. I know that, I tried, I tried to let it go, it didn't work—"

"Those aren't reasons, Luke," she said softly.

"Yes, they are, damn it all! They are!"

"No."

He got down then in a squat, put the heels of his hands to his forehead, concentrated hard for a moment. Looking at the floorboards of her living room, he spoke. "Because without you in it, my life is hollow—because there's nothing else without you. Because _I _need _you._" He looked up at her. "God, Lorelai. I just—I just love you."

Her eyes filled. "Is that enough? Is it enough _forever_? I mean, what if you—what if you wake up one day and that's gone? What then? What if you build your life around that and then you wake up one day and that thing in the center's not there anymore, what do you do? How do you start over after that?" Again, when he started towards her, she stepped back. "Those things that he said back there, those were terrible, terrible things. But they were true. I don't know how to give myself to someone. The one time I tried—"

"I'm not going anywhere, Lorelai, I _told_ you that," Luke said.

"Don't you see this isn't just about you? I've got to be good enough, I've got to be strong enough, I've got to be able to be bigger than I am, and I don't know how," she told him. She bit her lip. "You know what else is true? I love you." She shrugged, and Luke saw a tear fall into the corner of her mouth as she did. "I love you. That's true. I love you, and I need you. But I don't—I don't—I can't be—"

He cleared his throat. "I'm not going anywhere. I promised. I'm not going anywhere even if you want me to." He took off his hat and tossed it on the sofa. He took of his coat, folded it, and placed it beside the hat. He put his hands in his pockets. "You said you were in. I said I wasn't going anywhere. This is where we are now, Lorelai. This is it, and you're not getting rid of me just because you're scared."

"What am I scared of? Tell me, because I'd really like someone to verbalize it. I'd really like you to tell me exactly what I'm feeling at this moment, and also, what you think I'm going to dream about when I eventually go to sleep again, and what I'll want for dinner on January 14, 2023, and whether or not I'm going to enjoy _Kill Bill Vol. 2_—"

"Stop," he said gently.

Lorelai watched him a moment. He was so at ease, standing there in her living room, bareheaded, rocking back on his heels. She watched him take all of her in, her rounded back, her tangled hair, her swollen eyes, her torn feet. He was the only person who had ever seen her at her complete worst. He was the only one she could imagine looking at her at this moment with anything close to affection and understanding. She had gotten used to the tightening in her chest when she saw him, the way she felt as though she couldn't hold herself in anymore, but now she ached.

"I am the person he said I was," she told him.

"I don't believe it," he said.

"But I do."

She was still skittish as he approached. He didn't touch her, didn't reach out, but he stood before her, holding her gaze. "I don't care," he said.

She closed her eyes. "I _just_ want to be _alone,"_ she sighed. "I need to be by myself. I mean it. By myself, alone. Alone, by myself."

"I understand the concept," Luke told her.

"You're not going away, are you?" she asked wearily.

"I think we covered that."

She rubbed her eyes and hugged herself, trapping what warmth she could to her body. "Why are you doing this?"

"Christ, Lorelai," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What, you're mad?" she asked, incredulous. "How do you get to be mad?"

He gestured forcefully with his hands as he spoke, every muscle in his body tense. "I get to be mad because I've waited for this—to be with you—longer than I've ever waited for anything in my life, and I'm a pretty patient guy when it comes to what I want, I think that's fair to say. And at the first hitch, the first bump, the first little doubt—"

"This is not a little doubt, Luke. This is the Godzilla of doubts. It's ravaged downtown Tokyo and is about to cross the ocean for the West Coast—the residents of LA are already shivering in the shadow of this doubt, that's how not little this doubt is," she told him.

He glared at her. "You know, you're right, Lorelai, this isn't just about me—but it's not just about you, either. This is about the both of us—you pull out on me because some jackass with a wounded ego says some nasty things about you at a town meeting, because you think you're not _big_ enough, whatever the hell that means, and—"

"And what? I have _time_ to think about if I'm ready for this?"

"Would you stop interrupting me?" he bellowed. "Look, Lorelai, I get that you're afraid, that this _thing,_ this relationship, you and me, is different because there's no going back, everything is different now—I know, okay? Because it scares the shit out of me. But if you—if you pull out, if you say you need _time_, you only make it worse, you only start to think about it on your own, you start to think of all the reasons why it isn't going to work, and that's just bullshit. We have to do this _together_, damn it." He stopped and looked at her. She saw how close to tears he was. "Lorelai, the only way this is going to work is if we do it _together._ It's not about if _you're_ strong enough or good enough or big enough, this is about _us._"

Lorelai covered her mouth with her hand and turned her face away. "Luke, I really think I just need to be alone right now. I need you to respect that. I need you to turn around and go."

"Tough shit."

"_Excuse_ me?"

He sat on the couch, stretched his arms out along the back, and crossed his feet out in front of him. "I said, tough shit. You gotta believe me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not letting you," he said, pointing at her, "push me out. I'm sticking around. And so are you."

"You're crazy," she said. "Would you just go?"

"You are the most infuriating person in the world, you know that? I'm not leaving," he said.

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'm going to bed. I'll see you," she said.

"Yep. You will."

She waved her hand dismissively as she made her way up the stairs. "Whatever." She paused in the door to her bedroom and turned around. "There are blankets in the hall closet," she said.

"Good to know."

"If I ask you one more time—"

Luke looked up at her. "Not gonna work."

She shut the bedroom door behind her and curled herself around a pillow. It still smelled like Luke. She buried her face in the linen and indulged herself in a moment of sinking self-pity. _Dear Rory… _she sighed. There was nothing to say.


	20. Gossip

Gossip

Rory slept fitfully after her mother's phone call. She debated whether or not to tell Emily, or rather what to tell Emily. Over a breakfast of coffee and croissants—with jam for Emily, gnutella for Rory—Rory mentioned her mother had called in the middle of the night and had not sounded quite like herself.

"And you think something's wrong," Emily said. "You don't suppose something is the matter with your grandfather, do you?"

Rory smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure that's not it, Grandma. If something had happened to Grandpa, she would have told me right away. She probably just had a bad day. I just want to make sure—"

"Of course you do," Emily said. "We'll postpone our outing until you've spoken to her. I would feel better, as well, knowing that everything is fine."

Rory ping-ponged about the apartment all morning, waiting for a near decent hour to call home. She thumbed restlessly through her Borges and picked up her pen several times to write but found herself unable to concentrate. She hated to admit that some part of her was thinking about Stars Hollow as though it existed in a vacuum—that when she left, her mother and the rest of the town stopped and stood still, waiting for her to come back. Whatever stories Lorelai and Lane would tell her when she got back—Kirk's newest entrepreneurial endeavor, Taylor's latest town ordinance, the out of control bonfire at the last town festival—would all be delicious fictions created just to amuse her. She was relieved when Emily ran out to pick up the dry cleaning she'd sent out the day before, she could pick things up, turn them over, and put them down again, she could pace circles around the couch, find various ways to try and distract herself without feeling watched, without feeling the need to explain herself.

At what she hoped was a decent hour, she first called the house. Three times, she let the phone ring ten times before hanging up. She called Lorelai's cell and left a casually worried voice mail—"Mom, it's me. Just wanted to make sure you weren't talking or walking in your sleep, or anything, or you were having some sort of pre-senile fit last night. Call me?"—when the automatic message picked up, meaning the phone wasn't on. She called the Dragonfly, but neither Michel nor Sookie were in yet. In a fit of desperation, she called the only other place she could think her mother would be.

"Luke's, this is Lane."

Rory grinned, wedging the phone under her chin to wrap her arms around herself, delighted. "Lane!" she cried. "Lane—"

"Rory? Oh, my God, Rory!" Rory could almost see her friend stop in her tracks, her face break into a smile. "How are you? How's Europe? Are you smoking and wearing all black yet?" she asked.

"Oh, absolutely," she replied. "How are you? How's Stars Hollow?"

"I'm totally fine, and Stars Hollow is the same. Mostly," she said. "I guess you heard about last night, huh?"

Rory ceased pacing and hugged herself tighter. "I didn't—is everything okay? Is my mom there? I've been trying to get a hold of her all morning, and I can't find her anywhere. Did something happen?"

"Hang on a sec, okay?" Lane asked. Rory could hear muffled noises from the diner as her friend slipped away from the counter for a quieter spot. "We had a town meeting last night, and that guy Lorelai was dating before—"

"Who, Jason?"

"Yeah, him. He showed up and he made this whole big deal about wanting her back, and she shot him down," Lane said.

"Oh, my God," Rory said, seating herself. "That's awful. In front of everyone?"

"He didn't really give her much choice," Lane said. "And then—Rory, it was bad."

"What? Lane, tell me. Just—there wasn't any carnage, or anything, right? My mom's not _hurt_, is she?"

"No, she's not, but, Rory—that Jason guy said some pretty terrible things."

Rory leaned forward, her hand to her forehead. "Like what?" she asked tremulously.

"You sure you want to hear this?"

"Please."

Lane took a breath. "He basically said your mom was using him for sex, like that's all she can do in a relationship, and that she's ashamed of herself because she knows that's how she is. Only he said it much worse than I just did. I'm so sorry, Rory."

"No—oh, my God. No way did he say that," she said, her voice faint. It was all she could think to say. She tasted bile at the back of her throat.

"It was awful, Rory. I thought Luke was going to storm the stage and kill the guy, and the whole town was just insane. Someone could have got trampled; it was such a mess. And then your grandfather—"

"Grandpa was there?"

"Yeah—he'd been having dinner with Lorelai and he came to the meeting and he just punched the guy right in the face in the middle of his rant," Lane said.

"Grandpa punched Jason?" Rory asked, standing.

_"What?"_

Rory looked up and saw Emily standing in the doorway, her face pale. Rory gestured ignorance with her hands. "I'm talking to my friend Lane," she whispered. "I'll tell you after."

"After?" Emily cried, but Lane was speaking again.

"Clocked him right in the face. It was pretty impressive, actually," Lane said. "And then Lorelai grabbed your grandfather, and they ran out, and Luke ran out after them—I'm not sure what happened after that, honestly. I know Luke ended up bringing your grandfather back to the diner and Lorelai went home."

"Oh, my God," Rory said again. "I can't believe this. I have to talk to Mom." She felt strung too tightly as she spoke, as though if someone pulled her just so she would break in half out of fear and worry.

"If I see her, I'll tell her you called," Lane said. "I wish I could do more."

"Thanks, Lane. I should go—I have to talk to my grandma. I'll talk to you soon?" she said.

"You know where to find me," Lane said. "It's so good to talk to you—I miss you!"

"I miss you too," Rory told her.

"I know you have to go, but—are you okay?"

Rory bit her lip and thought. "You know, I really think I am. I think this was the right thing to do."

"Good," Lane said. "Then I'm glad. All right, call soon, okay?"

"You bet," Rory said. "Thanks, Lane."

After she hung up, she repeated what she'd heard to Emily, who had stood at Rory's shoulder, wringing her hands for the remainder of the phone call. She sat when Rory was done.

"My God," she said. "That's just—that's just awful. Of all the despicable—I'm glad your grandfather punched him."

Rory sunk to the couch beside Emily. "Me, too. I just hope he didn't hurt himself."

"And your mother, no one's heard from her?"

"Not as far as I can tell, and I can't get a hold of her. I'm really worried about her, Grandma," Rory said. "I mean, she's been under so much stress lately, and I just can't believe that anyone would say anything that awful about someone, about my mother! And to do it in front of everyone she knows, I just—" Her voice faltered. "I wish I could be with her," she said. "I wish I could help her."

Emily swallowed hard and arranged her features carefully as she pushed the hair off Rory's face. "If I know your mother, Rory, it's likely she wouldn't let you help her even if you were there," she said. "But it's up to you—you decide what we'll do next. Would you like to go home?"

Rory's eyes widened. She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to find her voice. "I—I hadn't thought of that. I don't know," she said. "I just—I just need to talk to my mom," she said, looking away, staring at the phone. "I just wish she'd call. I could call Babette, have her go check up on Mom, but I don't know if Mom would want to see her. Or if Mom's even home. Or—"

"Rory? Would it make you feel better to speak to this Babette person?"

Rory nodded gratefully at her grandmother. "I just need to know Mom's okay," she said. "That she's not—"

"All right. Why don't _I_ call—Babette, is it?—and see if she's heard from Lorelai. It would set me at ease, too. I—your mother sometimes tries to be a little _too_ strong. I'm sure this time isn't any different. It would be reassuring just to have someone check on her," Emily said. Rory could see the worry in Emily's eyes, slowly collecting like tears, ready to spill over. She slipped her hand in her grandmother's and told her the number.

_Dear Mom,_ she thought, _Grandma's good in a crisis. A little too good, just like she said you were. I want to know you're all right—are you all right? Were you all right last night? Were you alone? Did you let anyone take care of you like you took care of me? Mom?_

Rory could just hear Babette speaking to her grandmother over the phone, knowing that with an ocean between them Babette was speaking even more loudly than usual. She gave a much more detailed account of what occurred during and after the town meeting and had some choice words about the kind of person Jason must be for doing what he did in the manner he chose to do it. She heard how Joe and Andrew held Luke back, how Lorelai took off after handing Luke her shoes—a detail Babette really couldn't account for—how Luke got Richard back to the apartment over the diner as fast as humanly possible before taking off after Lorelai, and how when people began to arrive at the house to see Lorelai, he had fended them off by telling them it was either none of their God damned business or that Lorelai wanted to be alone for a while. Babette assured Emily that she hadn't seen Lorelai leave the house since yesterday, and she had been watching, too, so she'd know, and that Luke had been there almost the whole time—he'd stepped out just after six to see Richard and put someone in charge of the diner. She added it was the best decision Lorelai had made for herself in a long time to start dating Luke, and that no one in the town believed for a second the terrible things Jason had said about Lorelai the night before. Emily thanked her and hung up, asking only that if Babette were to see Lorelai, to tell her that she and Rory were waiting for her to call them. She looked at Rory.

"It sounds just dreadful. I can't imagine what must be going through your mother's mind right now," she said.

Rory sighed. "I can," she said. "I'm sure she's beating herself up pretty well."

They sat in silence awhile, Emily's arm around Rory, Rory's head on her grandmother's shoulder.

"I knew I was right for hating that Digger Stiles," Emily said abruptly.

Rory couldn't help but laugh just a little. "Oh, Grandma," she said. "You really were."

"I suppose all we can do is wait for your mother to call," Emily said.

Rory closed her eyes and nodded. "I guess." She rested quietly for a moment.

"When did your mother begin seeing Luke?" Emily asked.

She looked up. "Right before we left, I think."

"So this hasn't been going on long?"

Rory shook her head. "I'm sure she was going to tell you when we got back." Without thinking, she added, "everyone would probably know by then, anyway. It's pretty hard to keep a secret in Stars Hollow."

"I see," Emily said.

Rory cringed and took Emily's hand, squeezing it. "I'm sure she was going to tell you, Grandma."

Emily said nothing, and the two women sat in silence, waiting for the phone to ring.


	21. Too Much of a Good Thing

Too Much of a Good Thing

Lorelai woke with a mouth full of cotton and hunger gnawing in the pit of her stomach. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around the room before glancing at the clock: eight forty-five. She cursed under her breath and swung her legs over the side of the bed, wondering why Luke had let her sleep so long before he left. As soon as the thought occurred, she remembered. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and saw it all again. Drawing a shaky breath, she braced herself on the edge of the bed and pushed herself up. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out—her feet were swollen and tender, her skin criss-crossed with fine cuts that still wept from the night before.

She held her breath as she made her way to the bathroom, praying that Luke had gone home, to the diner, anywhere but her living room. She shivered under a short, cool shower, and paused in the bathroom only to put ointment on her wounds, pull her hair back, and dab concealer over the mauve streaks under her eyes before returning to the bedroom to throw on a suitable outfit. She gingerly walked down the stairs to forage for a stale Pop-Tart and stopped just in the front hall.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, shaking her head. "You've _got_ to be kidding."

Luke emerged from Rory's room carrying a large box. He was wearing a gray tee shirt with the sleeves cut off and jeans; a thin film of sweat beaded his forehead. The hallway was scattered with odds and ends—a shoebox, hangers, a pile of stuffed animals, Rory's mattress leaning against the wall. He regarded Lorelai over the burden he carried, a careful expression on his face. Lorelai had her hands on her hips and her mouth hung open.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked. "I cannot believe you're still here. I cannot _believe_ that you are seriously still here," she said. "Seriously. My God."

He started to edge past her with the box. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere," he told her.

"Yes, but I thought you were just—I didn't think you meant it quite so literally. I mean, look at you! You're still here!" she said, gesturing wildly.

"You said that already."

"And still, it bears repeating," she said darkly. She sighed and turned her head, pushing her chin into her shoulder. "What are you doing, anyway?" Her voice was petulant.

"Clearing out Rory's room." He dropped the box in the living room and wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. "I'm almost done—all the clothes that were in the closet I put in the hall closet, and the stuff in the drawers I just boxed up. Most of it, anyway—I left all the, you know, the girly things for you to do." He paused. "I didn't want to touch 'em. There's coffee on and I brought you some Danish."

She rolled her eyes and stalked to the kitchen, wincing as she went. "I do not need you to take care of me, Luke!" she hollered over her shoulder.

"That is not what I'm doing," he said. He came to stand by Rory's doorway and watched her as she poured herself a generous cup of coffee and eyed the box of Danish. "Eat."

She sipped her coffee and avoided his eye. "I mean it. I don't need your coddling. I can take care of myself."

"You still planning on redoing Rory's room?" he asked her, his voice level.

Lorelai shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "Yes," she said, after a moment.

"And you're going to do that all by yourself?"

She gave him the stink eye and slid into a chair at the table. "You are so irritating," she said. "You think you know everything."

"No one knows everything," he said, turning and surveying what was left to do in the bedroom.

"I really don't need—"

"I get it, Lorelai, okay?" Luke said. He looked at her over his shoulder, his face flushed with frustration and exertion. "This is not for you, it's for Rory," he said. "You don't need my help, you want to be alone, fine. I'll be out in the garage."

"What about the diner?"

He didn't answer, just turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him as he left. When she was sure he was gone, Lorelai reached back and helped herself to a Danish.

"Thanks for the coffee," she whispered into her cup.

She poured the rest of the pot into a travel mug and grabbed her car keys. She slid her feet into a pair of foamy flip flops she found among the junk in the hallway, thinking she would only wear them to drive to the inn. She once again found herself stopped dead in her tracks out on the porch. Luke leaned against the Jeep, staring into nothing.

"For God's _sake_, Luke! I think I can be left alone for five minutes at a time," she cried, stomping down the stairs to her car. "Would you please get out of my way so I can go to work?"

"Babette came over a minute ago," he said.

He watched her posture change, suddenly alert and tense, looking around as though she expected a net to drop any moment and a horde of villagers to appear with stakes and burning torches.

"What did she say?"

"She said to tell you your mom and Rory called her."

"She didn't want to talk to me?" she asked.

He looked at her. "You said you wanted to be alone," he said flatly.

She got into the Jeep and shut the door. "Please, Luke, please don't be here when I get back. I'm serious."

"I know you are," he told her. "I am too."

Sookie was already out on the back lawn when she walked up, her face puckered with worry. She hurried towards Lorelai, her hands outstretched. "Oh, honey," she said, "how are you doing? Are you okay? Tell me you're okay—I tried to go see you last night but Luke wouldn't let me in the house! And Rory called looking for you this morning—"

"Did you talk to her?" Lorelai asked.

Sookie shook her head. "She called before I got here. Lorelai, tell me, are you okay?"

Lorelai sat on the steps to the kitchen with a sigh, clutching her coffee mug. "I don't know," she said. She slid her feet out of the flip flops and showed them to Sookie, wiggling her toes painfully. "I feel like shit," she said. "That's how I am."

Sookie put her hand on Lorelai's back and squeezed her shoulder. "Sweetie, I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say."

Lorelai gave her a watery smile. "Tell me what happened after," she said.

"After," Sookie repeated.

"After Jason got up and called me a harlot in front of the whole town and branded me with a giant, slutty red S," Lorelai said.

"How is the S slutty?" Sookie asked.

"Sookie, please."

Sookie heaved a sigh. "There was a huge crowd on the lawn, and Taylor ended up having the sheriff threaten to arrest everybody unless they dispersed. Then they arrested Jason—"

"Do we actually have a jail?"

"There's a cell in town hall," Sookie said. "I don't think it's been used in years and years. Anyway. People just sort of went home—I think a lot of people went by your house to see if you were okay. Jackson and I both went, but Luke was standing out front and he wouldn't let anyone up the driveway, even."

"What have people been saying?"

"Lorelai—"

Lorelai jutted her chin out. "I'm not worried about my ego, Sookie—there's not much image to salvage, anyway. I showed up in Stars Hollow with a baby on my hip when I was seventeen. I'm not exactly the blushing virgin, here." She sipped her coffee. "I just need to know."

Sookie stuttered a moment, took a breath, and began. "People are—people are saying that Jason is the worst person in the world for saying what he said about you when he said it, in front of the whole town, that you're an amazing person and you could have done so much better and he clearly wasn't worth wasting your time with, that you and Luke should have done it a million years ago, and that they don't really care what you do after hours as long as you're okay with it."

"Really?"

Sookie nodded. "Honestly, Lorelai. I mean, it's what they've said to me, so they might be saying something else to other people, but that's what I've heard. Except from Lindsay Forrester, who for some reason thought the whole thing was very amusing. She's been real nasty about it. Miss Patty practically verbally scalped her this morning for being so mean about you."

Lorelai shuddered. "Hate by association, I guess."

"Because Dean and Rory used to go out?"

"Yeah." She paused. "What did she say?"

"Do you care?"

"Chalk it up to rampant curiosity. I find myself as the subject of discussion to be truly fascinating." She ventured a small smile. "Wait, don't tell me. 'No wonder Rory's such a prude—self-defense from having such a slut for a mother,'" she said in an affected, high voice.

"Lorelai," Sookie said. "Come on."

She buried her face in her hands. "I feel—I'm just—am I really that empty? Am I really that incapable of functioning in a basic human relationship that I can't muster up one shred of genuine affection and trust for someone enough to want him in my life, really in my life?" She looked up. "What is wrong with me?"

"Jason wasn't the right guy," Sookie said. "But—"

"Neither was Max, and neither was Christopher, and neither were any of the other guys in between, for a million reasons I was all very confident about. I didn't need anyone, I didn't want to change my life, I didn't—God, Sookie. I just—I don't know what's wrong with me," she said again.

"It's different now," Sookie said.

Lorelai stood and began to pace. "Tell me how it's different."

"You're with Luke now—you already trust Luke. It's going to be completely different with him, you know that. Lorelai, everyone knows that," Sookie said. "You should have seen him last night—he was so together, Lorelai. He was—I mean, he was upset, but he was so focused on you, on keeping you comfortable, safe, keeping people from prying. And then when I saw him this morning—"

"When did you see him this morning?"

"I stopped in at the diner really early, before I came here, and he was there opening up. He'd just sent your dad home in a cab, and he was about to go back to the house. He was… distracted," Sookie said. "Upset. He was worried."

"How upset?" Lorelai asked, squeezing her mug so tightly it hurt her palms.

Sookie hesitated. "He was destroyed, Lorelai. It was like everything from the night before caught up with him."

"Shit," Lorelai said, her voice low.

"What happened?"

"I—I told him I needed time alone. I told him I wanted him to leave me alone," she said. She bit her lips together and her eyes filled. "I wanted him to leave so I could be alone."

Sookie stood, her brow furrowed, her hands on her hips. "What'd you go and do that for?" she demanded.

Lorelai's mouth fell open. "I had been attacked by my ex-boyfriend in front of everyone I know! I was upset! I—I don't know! I was—"

"You were freaked out," Sookie said, "and you did the easiest thing. Lorelai, do you have any idea how much that man cares about you?"

"Sookie! What is going on here? Of course I know—"

Again, Sookie shook her head. "Do you? Then why would you ask him to give you time alone?"

"Because—because—after everything Jason said, I just felt like I _needed_ that, to be alone, to figure things out, to know if I'm ready for Luke and being with Luke and—"

Sookie rolled her eyes. "Lorelai, that's just—you're never going to figure that out on your own, you know that. You could spend your whole life waiting to be ready to be with someone who loves you _that_ much, and that's just a waste." She stepped towards her friend, who threw her hands up in defense and stepped away. "Lorelai, the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be. He _loves_ you."

"What if that's not enough?"

"You have to trust that it is," Sookie said simply, shrugging. "Or that at least it's a place to start."

Lorelai looked away. "It just happened so fast. One day he's Luke, diner proprietor, pal, fixer of things. And the next? He's _Luke_. He's not a guy anymore, you know? He's a man: he's the man in my life. He's someone who makes me—who I want next to me every night—I just…" She trailed off. "It happened so fast. And I feel so much. It's just so intense."

Sookie took Lorelai's hand in both of hers and squeezed. "You love him," she said.

She began to cry as she spoke. "I love him so much it hurts my insides, and I don't know what to do with that. I don't know where to put it, I don't know how to _feel_ that much all at once," she said, the words flooding out, her shoulders shaking.

"I'm not the one you need to be telling this to," Sookie said.

Lorelai wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I can't tell him that," she said.

"Why not?"

She snorted. "He's Luke," she said.

"Yeah," Sookie said. "You said it: he's the man in your life. Lorelai, you have to talk to him."

Lorelai sighed and looked up at the inn. "I can't be here today. I'm sorry, hon, I have to go home."

"To talk to Luke?"

"To curl up in bed and call my daughter," she replied. "To think about what to say to Luke."

"Whatever you need, sweetie." Lorelai turned to go. "Lorelai? For what it's worth, I don't think Luke was ever just a guy. Maybe that's why it feels the way it does, or why it happened so fast. Just a thought," Sookie said.

Lorelai smiled sadly. "Thanks, Sookie. I was supposed to meet with Winky today—cover for me?"

"Of course."

She tried to figure out, during the drive back, if she wanted him to be there when she got back. When she pulled into the drive, he was sitting on the front porch, his back against the railing, his legs stretched out across the top step as he drank a bottle of water, and she still wasn't sure. She slid out of the truck and padded across the lawn towards her door, feeling each slap of the flip flops against her heels as though there were nails embedded in the foamy material they were made of.

Luke looked at her sidelong. "Don't even say it," he said.

"What?"

"That I'm still here. I was working on the headboard and now I'm taking a break."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said. "Am I allowed in my house?"

He moved to let her pass. "What's wrong with your feet?"

She stared down at her toes. "I cut them."

"I can see that."

"I'm taking care of it," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Luke stood. "I got the message, Lorelai."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't need me," he said. "I get it." He made his way down the stairs. "I'll be back later to work on the headboard some more."

She watched him head down the drive. "Luke?"

He turned.

She wet her lips and tugged on the ends of her hair, waiting for the words to come. After a moment, she sighed. "Can you bring me to the hardware store this evening so I can pick up some paint?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

He nodded.

"Luke?" She paused again. "Can you bring food?"

"Got it."

"Real food," she added, "not green things."

"Again, I got it."

She took the phone to her room and dialed as she slid under the sheets.

"Lorelai, thank God! We've been waiting for your call all day. Where on earth have you been?"

Lorelai pinched the bridge of her nose between her finger and her thumb. "Mom, I'm sorry. I had a bad night, I unplugged the phone. I'm better. How are you?"

"Do not try to change the subject, Lorelai Gilmore. You tell me exactly what happened last night," Emily said. Even across the ocean, Lorelai thought, her mother could produce that sharp pain behind her left eye.

"Mom, could I just talk to my daughter, please?"

"Please, Lorelai, I am trying to find out what happened, could you just tell me?"

She sighed. "Jason gave a speech at the town meeting and caused a bit of a ruckus. He said some things, I said some things, Dad threw a punch, Jason got arrested—it was a big thing, but everything's fine, I'm fine, Dad's fine, I assume Jason's fine. Can I talk to Rory now?"

"You are absolutely impossible, Lorelai."

"Mom," Lorelai interjected, before her mother could continue. "I'm upset. It was unpleasant. I'm not happy that it happened. Everyone I knew was there, and it was embarrassing. I'd really like not to dwell on it, though. I just want to talk to Rory."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Lorelai lifted her feet in the air and stared at her toes. "Battered and bruised, but otherwise okay. I promise."

"And your father?"

She dropped her feet. "I don't know. The last I saw him, he was standing. I'm going to call him later. Or you could," she said.

"I'm glad to hear you're all right. I'll put Rory on," Emily said.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Lorelai?"

"Are you okay?"

She could practically hear Emily sitting up straighter, rearranging herself, putting on the dignity thicker than Chanel. "I am just fine, thank you for asking, Lorelai."

Lorelai rolled over on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow.

"Mom?"

She lifted her head. "Oh, Rory," she said, smiling back the tears. "God, hon. It's so good to hear your voice."

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?"

Rory sighed. "Mom," she said firmly.

"Oh, babe. I'm always okay. You know me—I'm a happy face band-aid," she said.

"Okay, that is not the first way I'd think to describe you, Mom, at all. Tell me, really."

"Rory, I don't know how much more talking about myself I'm capable of right now," she protested.

"Now I _know_ something's wrong," Rory said.

"Ha ha," Lorelai replied. "Jason—maybe he didn't say anything I didn't deserve. I don't know."

"I do," Rory said. "I didn't even hear it and I know that you didn't deserve to be called names in front of the whole town and hear terrible things about yourself like that. He was hurt that you rejected him and he lashed out, and whatever he said is just wrong and hurtful and stupid."

"I've heard that before," Lorelai said, "but it sounds so much better coming from you. Thanks, babe." She sighed. "I think I messed things up with Luke."

"How badly?"

"Let's put it this way: what's the biggest romantic faux pas in the Cameron Crowe oeuvre?" she asked.

"Diane Court with the pen," Rory replied immediately.

"Yeah. That was me. He gave me his heart and I gave him a pen," Lorelai said.

"No," Rory said. "I don't believe that."

Lorelai considered it a moment. "Okay, remember the end of _Spiderman_, when Peter has to reject Mary Jane even though he totally loves her because with great power comes great responsibility?"

"You're not seriously comparing your love life to _Spiderman._ I totally regret that rental choice," Rory said.

"There was nothing else in the store!"

"Mom. You can fix it. He's Luke. He's totally into you. He always has been."

Lorelai began to laugh, a laugh that started in her belly and worked its way out, fully and throaty. "You just said 'he's totally into you!'" she gasped.

"What's your great power, anyway?"

"Confusion, baby," Lorelai said, still giggling. "I assure you, hon, I'm going to be fine. I just need to think about some things and figure some things out, try and _talk._" She put her hand to her forehead. "Let him talk, too." She paused. "Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"I love him."

"Oh, Mom," Rory sighed.

"And I'm scared."

"I know," Rory replied. "But you don't have to be. You can trust Luke."

"He's totally driving me crazy. He's doing this whole over-protective, hovering, stoic thing. It's insane. And really annoying."

"Then nothing's changed," Rory said.

"But it has," Lorelai said. "That's what's freaking me out." She sighed. "I won't be able to figure this out on the phone, and I won't be able to figure it out all at once. I think I need Luke for it. Not that I don't appreciate the effort, hon, or your willingness to totally dissect my love life, but I think I have to keep this one to myself."

"Okay. I get that." Rory took a breath and Lorelai heard the catch in her throat. "Do you want me to come home?"

Lorelai sat up. "No, babe, of course not, not until your trip is over. Not until you're ready. You don't have to worry about me, I promise. I'm—well, I'm going to be fine, you know that. Don't come home on account of me. Are you okay? You doing better?"

"I am," Rory said. "I'm really enjoying spending time with Grandma."

Lorelai smiled. "Good. Glad to hear it. Have her give you a big hug from me. I should go, this is going to cost more than Lindsay Lohan's new boobs."

"Nice, Mom."

"I try. Okay. Love you, babe."

"Love you, too."

Lorelai tossed the phone to the floor and fell flat on her back, stretching her arms out over her head towards the corners of the bed, pointing her toes away from her in the same way. She inhaled through her nose and released the breath slowly. She stayed this way a long time, different words echoing in her head. She heard Jason saying she was ashamed of herself, her father saying they were blood, Luke saying he wouldn't go anywhere. She ached, a little, but she wasn't sure why—because she was tired, or because of the things that Jason had said, because she had been right in what she had done afterwards, or because she had been wrong, because Luke wasn't there, because he was coming back, because she didn't know what he was thinking, because she didn't know what to say, because she was so turned around her confusion was a weight on her chest that made it hard for her to breathe, because she was so mentally worn out that the best she could do was to call herself a happy face band aid. She felt spread too thin, stretched too far. She curled back into herself, hugging her knees to her chest. She waited.

Luke returned at six to find Lorelai in Rory's room, taping off the ceiling and the edges with blue tape. He stood in the doorway a moment before he spoke.

"I brought you a bacon cheeseburger and chili fries," he said.

She nearly fell over at the sound of his voice. "God," she said. "I feel like I'm in Rebecca's room and you're Mrs. Danvers."

"If I knew what you were talking about I'm sure I'd think that was very clever. I might have even laughed," he said.

"That's very generous of you," Lorelai replied. "I'm starving."

They ate in silence. Lorelai chose not to comment on the fact that with the exception of a small green salad first, Luke ate a meal identical to the one he'd brought for her, though he abstained from coffee in favor of water with lemon. She stole glances at him as she ate her fries, systematically as always, saving the ones the most loaded down with chili and cheese for last. She couldn't read his face. She hoped he wasn't thinking about much of anything. She hoped he wasn't so angry he wouldn't listen. She hoped he'd hear what she was trying to say when she was in the middle of saying it all wrong.

He drove her to the hardware store and helped her load the paint into the bed of the truck, and then to carry it into the house. When all the supplies were where they needed to be, they stood awkwardly together in Rory's empty room, not looking at each other. Luke stood with his hands on his hips, staring at Lorelai's feet.

"You gotta wear better shoes," he said.

"I wasn't wearing shoes when I got cut," she told him.

"I meant while they heal. You gotta wear better shoes," he said again.

"And you have to stop telling me what to do," she shot back. "You have to let me be—you have to let me do what I need to do, Luke, what I want to do, to take care of myself."

He turned and began to walk away. "Fine. Do what you want."

"Where are you going?" she called after him. "Luke?" She followed him into the hall. "Please don't go."

He wheeled around and stared her down, his eyes blazing. "What do you want, Lorelai, what do you want? You want me to go, or you want me to stay? You want me to leave you alone, let you take care of yourself, or you want me to bring you food and cart you around on your errands? Tell me what you want, Lorelai, 'cause I sure as hell can't figure it out on my own," he said, his voice shaking.

"Well, neither can I!" she cried. "All I know is that I want to be with you, that I want us to be together, but I just don't know how to do that! Okay? And I'm tired, and my feet hurt, and I feel pulled to pieces because all of my most private insecurities have been exposed to everyone I know, and my entire family is a mess, and I just want—I want—" She paused, close to tears again. "Why am I always crying?" she asked softly. "I hate to cry."

Luke dropped his hands and let his shoulders round in. He laced his fingers together behind his head and closed his eyes. "What do you want, Lorelai? Right now, just tonight. What do you want?"

She held her hand in a loose fist, covering her mouth. She leaned against the wall. "I want you to hold me. I want to go to bed and know that you won't hate me in the morning because I can't figure it out all at once. I want you not to hold it against me that I'm not sure. I just want you to be here, for me, no questions."

He looked up at her, his head still down. "I don't hate you," he said. "But I can't keep doing this. I can't be with you just on your terms. You have to know that. That's not what _I_ want." He paused. "I meant it, I'm not going anywhere. I can't. There's too much here—there's too much—"

"I know," Lorelai said softly.

He swallowed thickly. "You gotta work with me, Lorelai."

"I know," she said again. "I just can't do it tonight. Is that okay?"

"What choice do I have?"

"You have a choice, Luke," she said.

He reached for her, put his arms around her. "No," he said. "I don't." He picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he carried her to her room. He held her and she cried again, sobbed until she was scraped raw on the inside and there was nothing left to push out in tears and hiccupping breaths. He held her till she fell asleep, breathing noisily, her skin flushed.

When Lorelai woke there was coffee in the kitchen and Danish on the counter, but no Luke. Lorelai poured herself a cup of coffee and sat on the kitchen floor, unable to cry anymore.


	22. Tea Time with Winky

Tea Time with Winky

When Lorelai arrived at the Dragonfly, Sookie and Jackson were in the kitchen there, entrenched in a heated battle over zucchini blossoms that ended with Sookie brandishing a handful of the flowers and bellowing at her retreating husband that détentes were for suckers. Lorelai smiled.

"You two with the flirting," she said. "Hussy."

Sookie shrugged, grinning. "We do get carried away sometimes."

"Although, I must say I think the comment about having seen better blossoms on the town drunk's cheeks was pushing it a little," Lorelai said.

Sookie poured a cup of coffee and pushed it towards Lorelai. "So, how are you today?"

Lorelai spooned sugar into her cup. "I'm standing. On my feet, which is a great achievement in and of itself. And I'm thinking sequential thoughts. They're coming in rows now instead of newspaper jumbles. So that's good. Mostly. They're not always good thoughts, but they're at least distinct from each other," she said.

"And you talked to Luke?"

Lorelai shook her head. "Not yet."

"Lorelai, I'm sorry, but you're being totally ridiculous," Sookie said.

"Again, with the hostility," Lorelai replied. "I don't know what I have to say yet."

"Yes, you do," Sookie told her. "Just talk to him. You'll feel better."

"Wanna make a bet?" she said, speaking into her cup. "You talk to Winky yesterday?"

"You're going to have tea with her at eleven," Sookie said. She pointed at Lorelai. "I have to go get herbs for the salad. Talk to Luke."

"Sookie," Lorelai whined.

"Talk to him!"

Lorelai carried her coffee to her office and stared at the phone on her desk for a long moment. She took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed.

"Richard Gilmore."

"Dad, hi. This is your daughter," she said.

"Lorelai?"

"That's me," she said. "How are you, Dad? I've been meaning to call—I was going to call yesterday, but I just—I got caught up in some things and before I knew it…" She trailed off. "I'm calling now, though. I wanted to see how you're doing."

For a moment, she thought the line had gone dead. "Well, I suppose I'm just fine, Lorelai, thank you for inquiring," Richard said. "And yourself?"

"Alive and kicking," she replied. She took a sip of coffee, preparing. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that," she said. "I'm sorry for the whole mess."

Richard heaved an audible sigh. "It was hardly your fault, I must say, Lorelai."

"Thank you for saying that, Dad." She sat up straighter in her chair, sure there would be more.

"Perhaps we could discuss this at another time," Richard said. "I am at work, you know."

"Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to disturb you," she said.

"It's no disruption at all," he replied. "I am only here to gather the rest of my things and to distribute the remainder of my workload."

"What do you mean?"

"I am retiring, Lorelai."

"Oh, my God, Dad. That's—that's huge. That's—I don't know what to say—congratulations? I'm sorry?" She rose from her chair as she spoke and smacked her forehead with the flat of her hand.

"That's all very fine," he said vaguely, as though he hadn't been listening. "Will you be free for dinner on Sunday?"

"Of course. Would you like to come here, or—"

"Why don't you come to the house? Feel free to bring your friend," Richard said.

"My—?"

"Your friend, Luke."

"Oh. Well, then. Okay. Sure. Right. Okay. Nice talking to you, Dad."

"Good-bye, Lorelai."

_Dear Rory,_ she thought, _every day some bizarre, vaguely unpleasant occurrence causes me to wonder if my life is not some psychological-sociological experience like _The Truman Show._ What next? What, I ask you? Tomorrow, I suspect my hair will begin to grow in green at the roots and my eyelashes will be purple. That might not be so bad, though—I could work with that._

Lorelai sat down to tea—or coffee disguised in a thin china tea cup—with Winky Bedermeir exactly at eleven. The elderly woman leaned heavily on a thick, gnarled wooden cane, hunched with age. She wore three long sleeved tee shirts of various colors over a white oxford shirt with a long denim skirt of uncertain vintage. Peeking out beneath the hem of her skirt were Red Converse high tops. Lorelai hoped that when she was eighty-nine, she would have this woman's hair—thick and silver, roped in braids about her head like a crown. Winky settled herself in her chair and watched Lorelai pour her tea.

She waited until Lorelai was seated herself to speak. "So. Ms. Gilmore. Tell me about your life," she said, her voice even and mellow.

"Excuse me?"

"Your life, your life, I want to know about your life," Winky said, sipping her tea. "I'm a biographer. Lives interest me."

"Ah, well," Lorelai said, fidgeting a moment, "I've lived in Stars Hollow for oh, over eighteen years now, I guess? God, that's a long time," she sighed. "I have a daughter—"

Winky waved her hand at Lorelai. "No, no, that's not what I want. I want to hear what people would say about you if you weren't in the room."

Lorelai started. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bedermeir—"

"Please, call me Winky."

"Winky, then. I'm just curious as to why you're so curious—reciprocity of curiosity. Be a good name for an album," Lorelai said.

Winky stared at Lorelai thoughtfully a moment. Her eyes were bright behind the thick glasses she wore. "I've got a plan for you, Ms. Lorelai," she said, "but I'd like to hear about you first." Lorelai returned her stare, her brow furrowed and her mouth pursed in worry. Winky gave her an easy, friendly smile. "I assure you it's an evil plan," she said.

Lorelai couldn't help but smile. "My favorite kind," she said. "All right. Here we go: I am the wayward progeny of a corporate couple from Hartford. I got knocked up at sixteen, I dropped out of school, had my kid and moved out on my own. I need to have everything on my own terms, I'm stubborn and a loud-mouth and I always find a way to get what I want. I don't like being told what to do and I probably won't do it. I have a pretty good heart, but I don't take a whole lot seriously unless it comes to my kid and again, what I want, like this inn. I drink too much coffee and eat too much sugar and fat, but that's mainly why I'm interesting." She took a breath. "I don't do relationships properly but I'm a pretty good friend and I'm handy in a crisis. Nobody is half as amused by my wit as I am, and my mouth can get me in trouble because I don't always know when to stop. Is that what you want to hear?"

Winky stuffed a jam cookie in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "It'll do. You finish your schooling?"

"I completed my GED and I have a degree in business, so yes," Lorelai said. She absently stirred her coffee in her cup. "Mrs.—Winky—um, not that I'm not flattered by the attention, or anything, you know, because I am nothing if not fascinated by myself, but what are these questions heading to?"

The older woman waved her hand again. "I'll get to it. How long did it take you to get this inn up and running?"

"After we purchased the property? We broke ground in October and we opened in May. Seems longer, though," Lorelai said. "I think I aged about fifteen years in the last seven or eight months." She paused. "You're a biographer?"

"I was," Winky said. "Before. I was never published, you understand. I did local biography for the historical society in my hometown until I married my Harry. I did undertake some rather large projects in my time, but I never finished them."

"How come?"

"I often found that when I knew enough about a person to write about him, I no longer wanted to spend the time with him that it would take to write his life. I am a fickle biographer," Winky said. "It is an odd way to spend a life, studying others. Harry thought it most amusing."

"Harry is your husband?"

"Was. He passed, oh, five years ago in the fall," Winky said, helping herself to another cookie.

"I'm so sorry," Lorelai said. "Did you have children?"

Winky shook her head. "We never could, my dear. But I have not sat down with you today to talk about me." She stopped. "Or rather, I have, but not directly."

"I'm sorry?"

"My friends and I, Ms. Lorelai, have lived in the same community for ten years or more. This year, we have toured New England quite extensively searching for a town such as this one. We have decided that this is the place for us," Winky said.

"The place for…?" Lorelai asked. She raised her cup and took a sip of coffee.

"To wait. You see, my dear, we are all terminal."

Lorelai coughed, choking on her coffee. She put her hand to her throat and stared. "Terminal? You mean—you mean—oh, my God. Mrs.—Winky—I am so sorry. That is _terrible._" She sat a moment, opening and closing her mouth, attempting to find an appropriate phrase, to ask the right question, to compose herself. _Dear Rory, _she thought, _see? This is what I'm talking about!_

Winky shrugged. "Oh, my dear. We have had quite some time to come to terms with it. We all of us have our problems—I have a growth on my kidney that's been getting larger for years, Ms. Caliope has the emphysema, Martin and David have their tumors too, and Ms. Charlotte, well, she has so many problems we don't narrow it down to just one anymore."

"And you've all decided to come to Stars Hollow to—" Lorelai stopped, unable to complete the idea, let alone the sentence.

"We want to die in our own time, on our own terms, not in a home. We've decided. We put a bid in on a house here, and when the sale is complete and the necessary renovations finished, we will come here to live with a nurse or two," Winky said. "This town seems a perfect place—small, tidy, with enough to keep us amused, and people that won't mind us hanging about."

"Stars Hollow is nothing if not amusing," Lorelai conceded. "I just—I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time with this. You're just all going to sit here—"

"My dear, nothing so morbid. We're not anxious to go, we just would like to do it with dignity, in our own ways. I know I speak for all of us. I myself have had a lovely, happy life," Winky said, smiling. "I want to live my last joyfully—as joyfully as I can without my Harry. This is the place to do it. Here I can wait to see him again quite happily, I believe."

Lorelai's throat tightened as she saw the light on the elderly woman's face, the wistful expression as she turned her face up, closing her eyes. She reached across the table and placed her hand over Winky's. Winky blinked and looked at Lorelai a long moment, as though surprised to see her.

"What was Harry like?" Lorelai asked.

Winky withdrew her hand and sipped her tea, gathering herself together. "Oh, Harry was a writer—poetry, essays, the like—and he could be very moody. He would walk the house for hours when he was struggling with a line or an idea, all wrapped up in his words, staring at the floor. You couldn't speak to him then for fear of your life. But he was the wittiest man in the world, as well, and he saw the beauty in everything." Her hands shook as she set her cup on its plate. "Harry dreamed greatly. I thought his visions were the world. He filled my life," she said.

"That's beautiful," Lorelai said. "Everyone should have that."

"Harry and I would have been terrible with other people," Winky said. "Harry could be forbidding, and I do tend to be fussy. But we fit together quite well. We took care of each other. Everything was easy."

"Easy," Lorelai repeated.

"How else could it be? Even when it was hard, it was easy." She tapped her fingers against the table, nodding sagely. "That's the way it was. I don't know that I could explain it better, but Harry would have understood."

Lorelai sat back in her chair and began to fidget with the chinaware again, pouring more tea, refreshing her coffee. "So, Winky, how do I fit into this?"

"Ah, yes. Well. My friends and I will return to our retirement community shortly and we will need a proxy in Stars Hollow to oversee the details of the renovations to our new home. We have heard about your efforts with this beautiful building, and we hoped we might persuade you to act in our staid," Winky said. "You will, of course, be compensated. We do not ask that you have a daily hand in things as you did here—we understand that to be unreasonable. We would just like you to be in charge of properly delegating, hiring the right people, you understand—"

Lorelai nodded. "Delegation is something I understand completely," she said. "Winky, that's—very unexpected. Shouldn't you have a lawyer for something like that?" Lorelai asked.

"Most likely," the older woman conceded. "But we like the look of you better."

"I would love to help you out, Professor Winky. You're quite a something," Lorelai said.

"I hear the same about you," Winky told her. "That's one of the reasons I waited to talk to you, dearie. You and I are a lot alike, I think."

"How's that?"

Winky pulled herself out of her chair and headed back to the Inn. "I've always been a pisser, too," she called over her shoulder.

Lorelai grinned.

She stayed at the inn until after the dinner hour, and walked to town in the falling dusk suddenly aware that summer had arrived and she'd never noticed. She was warm and flushed when she reached the diner. She plopped herself down on a stool at the counter. She leaned forward on her elbows as Luke approached. He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked towards her, working it between his fingers and over his nails. He didn't look up or try to meet her eye.

"An eighty-nine year old woman called me a pisser today," Lorelai said. "That's a good thing, right?"

"Beats me," Luke replied. "You eating?"

She looked at him a moment. His expression was flat. She took her purse under her arm and stood. "Maybe later," she said. "Can I get a coffee to go, please?"

He handed her a to go cup that was almost too hot to carry. "I'll be by later," he said.

"Sure," she replied. She waved on her way out, nearly walking into Miss Patty and scalding them both with her coffee. "Patty, I'm so sorry—"

"Don't you worry about it, honey. How are you, dear? Holding up okay? Of course you are," she continued. "Balls of steel, I always said. You do yourself a favor, forget it ever happened and live your life."

"Oh, thanks, Miss Patty," Lorelai said, shifting her weight on her feet.

"You listen to me, Lorelai, I have been around the block more than once—"

"Thanks, Patty, I really have to—"

"Of course, darling," Patty said. She squeezed Lorelai's elbow and gave her a sympathetic smile. "We're all behind you."

Lorelai nodded, glancing around quickly. She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Patty's cheek. "Thank you, Miss Patty."

She fell into bed the first thing when she got back to the house, slept dreamlessly awhile, still dressed in her work clothes. When she woke, her feet were throbbing. She toed off her shoes and changed into an old pair of jeans and a tank top, pulled her hair back and tied a bandana over it. As she padded down the stairs in her bare feet, she could smell cooking-smells in the kitchen. She hung back in the entryway, watching. Luke stood over the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon over a large skillet. Lorelai tipped her head to one side, listening to the twanging music coming from a boom box in the corner, studying this man in her kitchen.

She sidled up beside him and peered at the food sizzling in the pan. "Hi," she said, tilting her chin toward him.

Luke regarded her out of the corner of his eye. "Hi," he said.

Lorelai hoisted herself up onto the counter. "What'cha cooking?" she asked.

"Chicken."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, saying "oh, really?"

He looked at her and rolled his eyes. "Chicken strips with onion, green pepper, snow peas, and a glaze."

"What kind of glaze?"

Luke turned the flame off under the skillet and walked away from the stove to set the table. "Orange juice, brown sugar, soy sauce, and fresh ginger," he said. "You hungry?"

Lorelai slid off the counter and opened the fridge. "I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question," she said. "Beer? And what are you listening to?" she asked, cocking her head to one side, trying to catch the lyrics as she opened two bottles of beer.

_"All of this time, you told me you wished you could figure yourself out. You say you're still a mystery, but no, not really, not to me, 'cause somebody knows you now."_

"A CD," Luke replied.

"What are you, eight?" Lorelai shot back, handing him a beer. "Who made it?"

He shrugged. "It's just a CD."

Lorelai took a pull on her bottle and hugged herself, shivering. "It's depressing," she said. "It's country."

Luke avoided her eye. "I like country."

She began to smile a little. "Since when? I mean, I know you're a Buffet fan, but I had no idea your taste was quite so… whimsical." He didn't answer. "Who's this?"

"Brad Paisley," he answered.

_"Baby, all your mystery, like you and me, is history. Somebody knows you now."_

Lorelai sat at her table, drinking her beer, listening to the next song, a one-sided conversation between a country store clerk and a movie star. If one could get past the fact that it was country, it was almost funny. She continued to watch Luke as he arranged food on the plates and set it on the table, eyeing him with new curiosity.

"What else do you listen to?" she asked him. "Other country singers?"

He pointed his fork at her plate. "It's going to get cold."

"I'm serious," she said. "I want to know."

"I don't really want to talk about it," he said, pushing food around on his plate. "I've got a lot to do."

Lorelai sat still, playing with her fork. Luke ate his meal without looking up. "Luke," she said. "Look at me."

He raised his eyes, his chin still tucked down.

"Please, talk to me. I miss you," she told him.

"I'm right here."

Lorelai laid down her fork and stared at him. "I don't know what's going on with you," she said after a moment. "You make me dinner, but you don't want to talk to me?"

Luke gripped his own fork in a tight fist; Lorelai could see the tenseness in every muscle of his face and for a moment she was spitefully glad. "And I don't know what the hell kind of games you're playing, Lorelai," he said.

"_Excuse_ me? Games?" she asked, horrified.

He looked at her. "You think you don't know what's going on with me? You say you need time alone, but then you want me to hold you. You say you're not sure if you're ready, that you need time, but then you come in here and talk like nothing's changed, when really, everything's changed! And you think you don't know what's going on with _me?_" he asked.

Lorelai chewed on her lip, her eyes wide. She pushed herself back from the table and brought her plate to the sink. She stared out the window a long moment before turning around. Luke sat with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

"I would never intentionally play games with you, Luke, and you know that," she said firmly. "That was just hurtful."

His head snapped up. "Talk to me about hurtful," he said.

Lorelai crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "I don't want to fight with you," she said. "I don't want to hurt you—I didn't mean to hurt you. I would _never_—" She stopped. "I'm confused. I'm sorry if that seems to you like playing _games_. I asked you for _time_, that's all! And having you around, I just—I don't know, I—I forget. And then I remember that I forgot and…" She trailed off, putting her hand to her forehead. "I don't mean to play games. I don't want to be the Vanna White of Stars Hollow. If you'd just give me—"

"What? _Time?_ I told you—"

"Why do you keep saying that like it's a bad thing? If you're not going anywhere, then time shouldn't—"

Luke stood so quickly his chair fell over. "We're not having this conversation again, Lorelai—we just keep going around and around and around," he said, gesturing with his hand. "And it keeps coming back to the same thing—you not wanting to be with me," he said. "I can't keep having this conversation with you," he said again. "I can't."

Her mouth fell open. "That's not—you're not hearing me," she said. "You think I don't want to be with you?"

Luke looked at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "That's what I'm hearing you say, Lorelai. It's all I'm hearing you say when you talk about needing time, figuring things out."

"Oh, Luke," she sighed.

Luke dropped his hands and looked around the kitchen. "I'm going to go," he said. "I've got—the headboard," he said. "Designs. At the diner. I'll see you."

He went out the back door. Lorelai followed him out. "Luke," she called, but he only waved. She sat heavily on the porch stairs and watched him go. She banged her head on the railing. "Stupid," she whispered.

Babette was out on the lawn before Luke rounded the corner to town. "Lorelai! Sugar! It's so good to see you, doll! How you doing, huh? Really, how you doing?"

Lorelai lifted her head. "Hey, Babette," she said. "Come sit?" She patted the stair beside her. When Babette had settled herself beside Lorelai and again asked how she was doing, Lorelai put her hand on her friend's knee and squeezed. "I'm doing all right," she said. "I'm hanging in. I wanted to thank you, for talking to my mother."

"Oh, sugar, no need to thank me for that. You know me and Morey would do anything for you crazy girls," Babette said. "Your ma was so worried, I could just tell! Thought she and Rory'd be home by now! What sad business it all is—that guy's no good, Lorelai, and I hope you get yourself down to that police station 'fore the end of tomorrow and get yourself a restraining order!"

"Oh, Babette, that's not really necessary," Lorelai said. She paused. "Is it?"

"Coming to the town meeting like that, saying those things in front of the whole town! I tell you, honey, no one believes that bull-hockey for a second, not a second—can't trust a man with eyes like that far as you can throw him. Less!" Babette cried. "Sure, honey, he's probably capable of much worse. Oh, the thought that anything might-a happened to you all this time! Thank heaven you've had Luke around," she said, nudging Lorelai with her elbow. "Someone to take care of you, watch out for you."

"Thank heaven," she repeated, her voice faint.

"Good for him, too, get out a-that diner," Babette said. "I tell you, you never know how people are gonna be, do you, doll? That Jason, surprised us all—no-good, low-down—"

Lorelai rubbed Babette's knee and rose, helping the other woman to her feet. "You never do know," she said. "People keep surprising you." She pointed over her shoulder. "I'm going inside—I'm redecorating Rory's room for a surprise while she's gone."

"I can't wait to see it when it's all done, doll—you've got such an eye! I should be getting in too, Morey's puttin' dessert on the table! Chocolate cake and the man bakes like nothing else," Babette said. "Oh, I tell you, nothing else!"

Lorelai grinned and watched Babette back to her own door before turning inside and surveying the mess in the kitchen.

_"Is it raining at your house like it's raining at mine? Does it thunder and lightening even when the sun shines? Is it raining at your house like it's raining at mine?"_

Lorelai slapped the off button on the boom box and frowned. "Oh, you shut up," she said.


	23. Back at the Beginning Again

Back at the Beginning Again

Lorelai couldn't sleep. She had spent her evening priming the wall's in Rory's room, listening to the CDs that Luke had left behind. She went to bed at midnight and spent the next two hours staring at the ceiling, the same lyric on loop in her mind: _"she left the suds in the bucket and the clothes hanging out on the line."_ At two she gave up and rolled off the bed to her feet, stomping down the stairs to the kitchen, muttering to herself: "Stupid freaking suds. Take them with you next time."

She wandered the kitchen a few moments, locating things to dump into the blender. She made herself a mudslide and poured it into a coffee bowl. She went into the living room and stood for a moment, staring out the window. She started, her brow furrowed, and immediately headed to the porch.

"Luke?"

He was at the end of the drive, his back to the house. His posture was typical Luke—his hands in his pocket, his head bowed and his chin to his chest, his back rounded slightly as he contemplated the ground. He turned when she called out to him and walked towards her in slow, dragging steps. She sat on the front steps as he walked; he dropped beside her with a sigh.

"I couldn't sleep," he said.

"So you thought you'd just… play Heathcliff to my Catherine? You forgot the whole head-banging part," Lorelai said.

Luke shrugged. "I don't know—I just—I thought maybe you'd be up," he said.

"I couldn't sleep either," she said.

"So you're drinking coffee?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "It's a milkshake. Want one?"

He shook his head. "Nah," he said, reaching for the cup. He took a sip. "That's a—"

"A big girl milkshake," Lorelai smiled. "You bet."

They were silent, sitting together, both painfully aware of the small space between them. Lorelai took her mug back and drank, handed it back to Luke. He held it, turning it in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know. Me, too."

He turned to look at her. "What are we doing here, Lorelai?"

She wet her lips, tucked her hair behind her ears, smoothed the cotton of her pajama pants. "I panicked," she said."

"I kinda noticed that."

She reached for her shake again and drank deeply. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the mug aside."When you take away all the malice in what Jason said the other night, there's still something true in it all," she said. "I don't know how to have someone in my life. I never have. I keep relationships separate. I don't know why." She sighed. "I don't know—maybe I do. Maybe it's just easier to keep someone on the outside than have to make space. Maybe I choose to be with people who wouldn't fit even if I did make a space for them—choose them just because they've chosen me, because they think I'm amazing and I just _love_ that." She glanced at him. "Feel free to jump in here any time."

He wasn't looking at her: he gazed out over her yard, his expression thoughtful. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded. "You're too hard on yourself," he said.

"Am I?" she asked, sighing. "I don't know. I've been thinking, even writing," she told him with a roll of her eyes, "and I think—I think I've started to make sense of it all."

"Lorelai—" he began.

She shook her head. "No, I think—he was right."

"We went through that," Luke said.

"You weren't there, not for Max or Christopher or Jason or anything, you don't—"

"I saw it all, Lorelai," he said quietly. "I know. I was there."

"And?"

He spread his hands. "You do things your own way. You always have—that's what you do. That's—that's who you are."

"Happy face band-aid," Lorelai muttered.

"What?"

"Never mind." She stood and paced on the lawn in her fuzzy Hello Kitty! slippers. "I didn't like the person Jason was talking about the other night. She was this scared, mean, small person, this self-involved, emotional mess incapable of being with _anyone_—I just—God, she was horrible. Molly Ringwald from _The Breakfast Club_ grown up, a brat who blames everything on other people, on her parents…" she trailed off. "I didn't like that person. I didn't want that person to be with you," she said, turning to look at him. "She wasn't enough—_I _wasn't enough."

He held her gaze fast with his own. "I never thought that for a second."

She smiled sadly. "I know. And—and I need that." She crossed her arms over her chest and shuffled her feet in the grass. "It's something I've been thinking about the past few days, the way you see me and the way I see me. And you," she added. "I love the way you see me. And I love that you are the one person who has seen the worst parts of my personality—everything, good stuff, bad stuff, weird stuff—and that you still look at me the way you do. I don't want to lose that, I don't want to fuck it up, I don't ever want to look at you and see myself as less, and that night, I just—I don't know. I couldn't stand the thought of you seeing me the way he did. The way I did. And I just—I had to hide. I had to keep that back, because you do see everything and you'd see that, too."

"And what?" Luke asked, rising. "I'd change my mind? Come on, Lorelai, you know me better than that," he said.

"Would you listen to me, please? I'm trying to explain!" she cried.

"I am listening!"

Lorelai stepped back, knuckled her eyes, gathering herself. "I just—I didn't—the way he looked at me when he said those things? That was the worst I think I've ever felt. And I don't ever want to feel that way again, and I don't ever want even to _think_ about you looking at me that way. But I also don't know why you look at me the way you do. I mean, I'm a big fan of me, you know, always have been, but I just—I don't _see_ it," she said. "Why do you love me?"

"Ah, geez, Lorelai, you're not asking me that again," Luke said, tugging on his hat.

"I need a reason, Luke, I just need to hear why—"

"Why? Why is that important? How is that going to help you with whatever it is you're trying to figure out?" he demanded.

Lorelai dropped to sit on the grass. "Because. Look, this is the thing. When you asked me out, I was—to say I was mildly shocked would be putting it lightly. And then I started watching you and I just started seeing you see me, and I started remembering—"

"Remembering what?"

"Remembering how we were before, before Max and before Chris and Jess and everything. It was different, then," she said.

Luke stretched out on the grass beside her and folded his hands behind his head. "It was," he agreed.

"And then you kissed me, and I just—every feeling I've ever had about you was suddenly there all at once, you know? I wasn't expecting to feel the way I felt—the way I feel. It was so overwhelming, you know, so sudden." She paused, closed her eyes. "Sudden like floodgates, though, like it was already there, but it was… shut down. And now it's all loose," she said, opening her eyes, shaking her hands in front of her. "How I feel about you is something I don't really have to think about," she said. "I know why I feel the way I do, I think, but I just—I'm a mess, Luke. I'm this insane, selfish person, and I don't—"

Her voice was choked in tears as she spoke. Luke sat up and moved closer, hitching himself across the grass towards Lorelai. She bit her lip and looked at him, her eyes bright. He took one of her hands in both of his and turned the palm up, uncurling her fingers, making patterns on her skin with his fingertips. He didn't look at her as he spoke.

"Yeah, you're insane," he said. "That's the way you see the world—everything's a possibility for fun, nothing's serious, nothing's too bad for a joke, and everything's in color and it moves fast and it's all there for you and you love that, and everyone can see that, and it makes them want to be around you because maybe they can see the world that way, too."

Lorelai bit her lip and strained to see his face in the darkness. "I'm a merry-go-round," she said.

Luke gave a sighing, half-laugh. "Yeah." He turned her hand over and continued running his fingertips across her skin, her nails, the fine lines of her knuckles. "And everything is full out, all the way with you—coffee, food, work, love, like the way you love Rory," he said. He raised Lorelai's hand, turning it again, kissing her wrist. He looked up, finally meeting her eye. "That's part of it," he said. "The rest is just… stuff I can't say, stuff that doesn't, you know, work in words, or whatever." He shrugged. "I don't know, Lorelai. I don't know what you want to hear. I love everything, even the stuff that pisses me off and makes me want to put my head through a wall, even when you make me so crazy I could—"

"Kick a car?" she asked.

He gave her a hard look. "Something like that," he said.

She nodded. "Oh."

"That's all I get?" he asked. "I give you all that, I say all that stuff, and all I get is an 'oh?' Christ, Lorelai, I think I deserve more of a pay-off than that!"

She smothered a smile. "Thank you," she said.

"Now, what the hell did you need to hear all that for?"

Lorelai laced her fingers through Luke's and squeezed his hand. "I don't know. I guess I had to be sure."

"Of what?"

"That I know where we're starting? I don't know. I just—I'm not used to this," she said. "I'm not used to feeling so much. I feel like I'm going to break open all the time, you know? I love you so much, and I feel like I can't hold it all in. And I'm not good at relationships. Add those together, and here I am, freaking out. And after what Jason said, after hearing those things about myself, all I can think about is the person that I am and the person you think I am and how I'm going to fuck everything up and all I really want to do is not fuck this up. More than anything, I don't want to fuck this up," she said.

"I would have to echo that sentiment," Luke said. "But that's not going to happen."

Lorelai withdrew her hand. "How can you be so calm? It's so annoying. You're three seconds away from being smug and it's absolutely driving me crazy," she said. "Seriously, Luke, how can you not be freaking out just a little bit? Not even a mini-meltdown? I mean, I don't want you to go into a full-out Oscar speech Halle Berry thing, but a little something would be nice."

Luke sat perfectly still as she spoke, but his hands tightened in fists. "This annoying calm is all that's keeping me from turning over tables and putting my fist through walls, Lorelai. You think I like what's going on right now? You think I'm enjoying the suspense? I'm not a suspense kind of guy. I am—I'm—the past few days? My version of hell, thanks. It's been great. But I even give you a Tom Hanks type of acceptance speech and you have every reason in the world to shut this down here and now."

"Why do you keep forcing me into this? Why am I the one—" she began, pushing herself to her feet.

Luke was on his feet, too. His face flushed as he spoke. "Because you're the one with the Godzilla doubts that are eating downtown Tokyo! Because you're pushing me to push you!"

"I am not! I asked you for space!" she cried.

"And space turns into something else entirely, Lorelai—if I give you space, we're going to lose this," he told her, his voice breaking.

"How do you know that?" she asked, her heart in her throat.

"I just—if I step away, Lorelai, if I walk away from you, you're just going to take all that time and you're going to think of all the ways you could fuck this up, as you say, and it's not going to help, it's not going to help in anyway whatsoever, it's just going to make you more scared and more freaked out and you're going to think of all the ways you're not big enough or strong enough or whatever it is that you're worried about being and you're going to keep moving away from me until I just can't touch you anymore. And that's what scares me, Lorelai, more than fucking it up or ruining it or whatever—at least if we fucked it up, it meant that we gave it a chance," Luke said, his voice almost pleading.

Lorelai stood, stunned, a moment, before stalking towards the house. She stopped at the front door and turned, waving Luke in. "We're going to wake Babette and then she'll get out the Camcorder and before you know it, they'll be playing this Sunday nights at the library," she said. "Come inside."

He followed her in and they stood uncertainly in the living room, watching each other warily. Luke sat on the couch, covering his hands with his face.

"It's the same conversation, Lorelai, and the end isn't going to be any different," he said. He lowered his hands. "You remember that night that we were supposed to go to dinner, you were going to ask me about the loan for the inn?"

"_Meltdown in the Park._ How could I forget?" she said.

"You told me sometimes you wanted a partner," he said.

She smiled sadly. "I do remember that. That was not a good night."

"No."

"And you were there."

"Yes, I was. A partner, Lorelai. That's what I'm offering you," Luke said levelly. "That's what this is."

"And do you remember the last time, when I came to see you in the middle of the night, and you had that whole 'in a relationship/have a relationship' spell?" she asked.

"I remember," he said. "And I remember what you said, too."

"I do, too. But the thing is, Luke—"

"That is the worst way to start a sentence at a time like this," Luke said, fairly jumping off the couch.

"No, it's—I said that and I didn't really understand it. I've had lots of relationships," Lorelai said. "But I've never really let myself be _in_ one. I didn't want to be. Luke, I'm just—I'm so at sea, here. I'm lost. I don't know what I'm doing. I just—I love you, and I want to be with you, but I think I don't know how."

Luke lost all color in his face, his brow furrowed. "We were together. We _were_. You were ready to tell everyone, you were in, it was good—it was better than that, it was—it was easy." His face broke Lorelai's heart. "I don't understand."

She came to stand next to him. She slipped her hands in his. "It was too fast for me, Luke.We can't just go on the way we always did, and I think that's what we—what I was—trying to do. We have to figure out how to go forward, I guess." She laughed. "Country music is catching," she said.

"Would you be serious?" he demanded.

"Sorry," she said. She sighed. "I just—I think we need to not do this like we've already been doing it for eight hundred years. I think we need to slow it down. We need to figure each other out—"

"Lorelai—"

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "I don't mean the way we already have—I've accepted the fact that you can predict every 'dirty' I'm going to say. You know that I know the whole food diatribe thing you have going is your bizarre way of showing affection. But that's not the point."

"And the point is?"

"A question you are very familiar with," Lorelai smiled.

"Don't I know it," he said darkly.

"Honestly? I'm not sure what the point is—all I know is that you can't just go from first gear to fourth gear," Lorelai said. "You have to work up to it. Right? That's how it works, right? With cars?"

Luke tried not to smile. "Yes, that's how it works with cars."

"So you see what I mean, then, right? Too fast? My engine's all kerfuffled. I need—I need to go slow. I need to figure it all out."

"And we're back to this again," Luke said, dropping Lorelai's hands and edging away.

Lorelai grabbed his elbow and pulled him back towards her. "No, we're not. I'm not asking you to leave me alone, because clearly that's not working, and I'm not asking you for time—"

"Aren't you?"

"Now who's interrupting?" she demanded. "What I'm asking you, you big freak, is to help me out here. Take it down a notch."

Luke stared a moment. "I have to sit down." He walked towards the couch and sat heavily, his head in his hands. "Jesus, Lorelai. You're a pain in my ass, you know that? What was wrong with the way we were the day before yesterday?"

"Nothing. I'm just not sure we can handle it yet," she said.

"We? What's this we crap? I was already there!"

She sat beside him. "Oh, please, Luke, you were totally overboard with the whole overprotective—"

"And I had good reason!"

"—with the whole overprotective, feeding me, checking up on me stuff. It's too much," she continued. She leaned into him, rested her head on his shoulder. "This is what I know, okay? I love you, I want you around for a really, really, really long time, and I don't want to fuck it up in any way, shape, or form." She ticked off the list on her fingers as she spoke. "And relationships are not my forte. Hence—"

"Hence?" he grunted.

"_Hence,_" she said, "the need to slow down. But you were right: I can't do it on my own. I can't think about it by myself, I need you for that—we have to do it together."

He frowned. "What does that mean, anyway, slow down?"

Lorelai tipped her head up, her chin still on his shoulder. "Oh, I don't even know. Dating?"

She had to sit back as he spoke to avoid having him clock her with his wild gesticulations as he spoke. "Dating is what you do when you're trying to figure out whether or not someone is worth the effort: it's what you do when you're getting to know someone and you think you might like them but you're not sure and so you have to go through the whole excruciating ordeal to see whether or not it's worth it. What's the point?"

"I didn't know you listen to country music," Lorelai said.

Luke pointed at her. "Neither does anyone else and I'm keeping it that way," he told her. "You know the important stuff. I know the important stuff. Everything else is just details."

"They say God is in the details," she replied.

"You've got an answer for everything."

"And you're surprised?" she asked.

He sat silently for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He slid his hand out and cupped her knee, squeezing slightly. "Slow down," he said. "And that's what you want."

Lorelai nodded. "I don't want us to get all shoehorned in what we think a relationship should be before we know what it is. You can't just jump in it, right? You've got to let it get there on its own, right? Luke?"

He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing quickly. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know, about any of it. But if slowing down is what you think you need—I don't know if I can do it," he said.

"Oh, Luke—"

He sighed. "I just—I can't be with you and not be with you. I don't—I can't do it half-way. I don't know what you're asking me, and honestly, it sounds like just another way of telling me you want _time—"_

Lorelai pulled back. "I'm not asking you for time alone, I'm _not._ I got enough of that with you freezing me out all day."

Luke gave her a look. "You deserved it."

Lorelai stood, shaking her head. "We're just going in circles. You're not _listening_ to me, Luke—you're hearing what you expect me to say, not what I'm saying. _Listen_ to me."

"I am!"

She stamped her foot, her hands on her hips. "You're not! You're judging!"

Luke leaned his head on the back of the couch. He groaned. "Talk. I'm listening. Really."

Lorelai knelt beside him. "Together, okay, together, we need to see what this relationship is. It's not the same, you said that the other night, remember? And it's not exactly different, either—it's like this weird hybrid relationship that needs careful cultivation and attention, like one of those plants that's made by grafting two other plants together to get the best stuff from both of them. We just went so whole hog—"

Luke lifted his head. "Don't say whole hog," he said.

She rested her cheek on his knee. "I told you I felt like I wasn't enough—"

"Lorelai—"

"Shut up," she said. "I'm talking. With you? I'm enough. I'm more."

He brushed the hair off her face. "You always were," he told her.

She nodded, pushing her cheek into the fabric of his jeans. She toyed with his shoe laces. "We can do this. I think we can. We just—we can't do it all at once." She lifted her face and put her chin on his knee. "That's just—that's what I meant." She hugged his leg. "I don't want to be without you."

Luke pulled her up onto his lap and again rested his forehead against hers. "So slow down, huh?" He placed his hand heavily on the base of her neck, his eyes closed. He lifted his head and pressed his lips to her forehead. "God, Lorelai," he said. "God, do I love you." He paused. "You drive me fucking nuts, though," he said.

"Right back atcha, feller," Lorelai said. She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly. "That's why it's going to work."

She watched him study her face, the look as he traced her features with his eyes. He leaned forward and placed his head on her chest, hugging her close to him.

"You're just exhausting," he told her.

She laughed. "I work hard at it. Hey," she said, forcing him to look at her. "I'm still here," she said. "Oh, Luke—what's this?" she asked, seeing his eyes fill.

He shook his head and kissed her. "Nothing," he said. "I'm just—that's good. Still here is good." He sighed. "I can't promise anything, here. I don't know anything about this relationship shit, either, and this slowing down stuff—I don't know, Lorelai. I don't know."

She brushed her thumb over his lips and nodded. "I know. We just—we just have to try. Take it a day at a time. I know you think I'm crazy, or whatever, but I really think—I really think it's best. I do. We'll just have to—"

"Go slow," Luke said glumly, "I know. I heard you."

"It's just been so intense. We need to take our time," she said.

Luke slid her off his lap and adjusted his clothes. "I just don't know," he said again.

"Try?" she asked, reaching for his hand.

"This isn't going to involve a lot of you telling me to back off, is it? Because while I'm aware that the squabbling and the bantering and whatnot—"

"Whatnot," Lorelai said, giggling.

"—are a part of the whole dynamic we've got going here, there's a limit. I gotta say, Lorelai, that this could just turn into a way of keeping me out," he said.

"No," she said. "It's a way of letting you in."

He considered this. "That's pretty good spin. You ever consider PR?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Lorelai drew her knees to her chest and leaned back into the couch pillows. "Look, I didn't say the slowing down thing was going to be easy. I'll try, you try, we'll both try, it'll be a new Olympic sport, we'll medal, they'll have a parade for us, and we will emerge victorious, famous, and with a lucrative sports shoe deal that will allow us to buy ridiculously expensive cars and erect statues of ourselves in the town square," she said.

"I'm not letting you use this as an excuse," he said.

She closed her eyes. "Oh, believe me, I'm counting on that," she said.

He was silent. She peeked out at him under her lashes. He stared ahead, his face working, the muscles in his jaw tense. At length, he took a deep breath.

"Fuck it," he said. "If this is what needs to happen, fine. We'll slow down," he said. "But I want it on the record I'm not happy about it. And you're not the one calling all the shots, you know—I'm not giving in."

Lorelai sat up and put her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said. "You're amazing."

Luke rolled his eyes. "I'm fucking Spiderman," he said.

"Country music and comic books?" she squealed. "Luke, you're like a pop-up book of information this evening."

"A pop-up book?"

She shrugged. "I'm tired."

He extracted himself from her arms and rose. "I should go—I gotta get some sleep, too."

"You can stay," she said, putting out her hands. He pulled her to her feet.

"You call that slowing down?"

"Sleeping together is another matter altogether," she told him. She stopped. "Or is it?" She looked at him a moment, puzzled. "Let's just say for tonight, it is."

He put his arm around her as they walked towards the stairs. "And tomorrow?"

She leaned into him, yawning. "Eh—tomorrow will take care of tomorrow," she said.

Both exhausted, they fell asleep in Lorelai's room on top of the covers, still robed and dressed, holding each other.


	24. Pilgrimage

Pilgrimage

_Dear Mom,_ Rory began. She looked up from her journal, chewing on the end of her pen. Her grandmother dozed lightly in the seat across from her. They had left Rome only an hour ago but the rocking motion of the train had quickly put Emily to sleep. Rory sighed.

_Grandma hasn't been sleeping well. She doesn't know I know, but I can hear her when she gets up at night and walks around—it's a pretty small apartment. And this is weird, but I think she's smoking, too. I haven't found butts or ashtrays or anything, but there's always this undertone of smoke in the air, even with all the fresh flowers. And she's gotten thinner, too—here I am, stuffing my face like nobody else (except maybe you), and she barely eats at all. I don't quite understand what's going on with her—she's told me all these problems she's always had with Grandpa, how people aren't things and family is more than just a façade, all those things, but underneath all that it seems like she still really misses him. Even though she thinks he'll never really understand what she wants him to, she still loves him. It hurts that you can't help that._

_We took a late afternoon train for __Florence__—we won't get in until after dinner time. Normally in the mornings we go to Campo de' Fiori and get flowers and fresh food for lunch before we go off to the sight-seeing, but we skipped that today and went straight to Piazza del Popolo. Remember, we went there but the church was closed? I wanted to see the Caravaggio paintings in the Cerasi Chapel. They were amazing, and that doesn't nearly do them justice. They're Caravaggio._

_This city—it's overwhelming, Mom. It's seething with people and colors and sounds. I could have stayed in Piazza del Popolo all day, even though it was so, so hot. That's the place where people would start and finish their journey to the holy land during the early days of Christianity. It was the gateway to the city. I could have watched people there forever._

_I've been thinking: I wish I could have been there for you when Jason said those terrible things. I would have done what you did for me after Dean left that night—whatever you asked me to. I wish I was thirty seconds away, like you said you were going to be. Grandma and I have been walking around the city, and I've been thinking about religious trips and paintings and cobblestones and high heels with stilettos like needles, and then I'll remember what happened, and I'll remember to think about it, and then I don't know quite what to do. Do I go back to thinking about gelato and chiaroscuro and mosaics in ceilings, or do I whip out my cell phone and make sure you're okay? Can you keep someone in your thoughts if you're not really thinking about them all the time?_

_Grandma keeps asking me about Luke. I'm not helping much, because I keep telling her that the best way to describe him is just to say that he's Luke. Luke is Luke—what else is there? She wants to know if I'm okay with you seeing each other. I think she wants to know what the men in your life have been like, but I can't really tell her that. I can tell her about how Luke has been in our lives—fixing the house, looking out for us, bringing us ice and food and coffee and saving baby chicks and taking us places and protecting us from nephews and hauling around mattresses and every other thing Luke has ever done for us. I can tell her he's always been around, and I can tell her he doesn't let us down, even if we do, sometimes, let him down. I did tell her he does whatever he can to help other people but he thinks it's embarrassing when anyone brings it up, and she said that's a mark of good character. The first time she asked me how I felt about the two of you being together, the only thing I could think to say was that I can't really imagine your life without Luke in it. I couldn't say that about the others, not even Dad. A long time ago, that would have been different, but it's not anymore. He's got his things and we've got our things. Maybe, in an ideal world, our things would all be the same. Maybe. But what's in a maybe?_

_We were looking at the Caravaggios, and the martyrdom of St. Peter is so gruesome—he's crucified upside down and it almost protrudes from the canvas the way he's painted it. You'd have thought crucifying him right side up would have been enough, but the Romans were creative with their torture. I asked Grandma what her favorite Caravaggio was, and she said she'd always admired his depiction of Judith with Holofernes. You know the one, where she slits his throat and there's blood just pouring everywhere? I told Grandma it's the bloodiest painting imaginable, but she said that Judith has this incredible expression on her face of grim determination, and the painting in and of itself is really rather funny, when you look at the old servant woman egging Judith on. I guess Grandma has a dark side that's, honestly, a little sick. My favorite Caravaggio is still the Magdalene. I can't help it: it's not his best, but it's so sad. You just want to sit next to her and help her collect all the beads that have spilled and to tell her that the Vatican eventually took it back and we know she's not really a prostitute. She had such a bad rap—an accident of history and bad interpretation, Grandma said, and she's marginalized and ostracized for centuries. Then she said that it's all the fault of the men and they never get anything right in the first place. Still. Poor Mary._

_What I haven't been thinking about is Dean. If I did, I think I might get angry, and I don't know why. It's probably not worth it. But when I think of you, Mom, I just hope that you've sorted things out with Luke, after we talked the other day. If you really love him, like you said, that's—to say it's a big deal is not enough, I know. If you really love him, you'll work it out. I hope you're okay. Mending._

_Love, Rory._

Rory shut her journal and leaned close to the train window, peering out at the passing country side. She hugged the notebook to her chest and thought about the collection of letters she was building. She had always enjoyed reading the private writings of her favorite authors—published journals, correspondence, juvenile scribblings, and the like—and she fantasized when she was young about being Dorothy Parker or Flannery O'Connor (without the lupus, she'd have to add) and having all of her thoughts and ideas preserved for posterity. She ran her hand over the top of the journal and shoved it into her backpack, wondering. How would people read Rory Gilmore? Would they even want to?

Emily sighed in her sleep. Rory tucked her feet up under her where she sat and leaned her chin in her hand, watching her grandmother. How would any of them stack up on paper, she wondered.


	25. Wayward Intentions

Wayward Intentions

Lorelai was wearing roller skates, balancing carefully on a tall stack of magazines as she painted the ceiling of Rory's room. The mural had to be _perfect_, of this she was sure, but she couldn't figure out what would be the best color for the tattoo on Dean's forehead—the puce or the periwinkle. She had just decided on the puce and raised her brush to begin when the phone began to ring, jarring the tower on which she stood. She was aware she was falling and dropped the paintbrush, cursing. Her hand shot out and grasped the telephone receiver.

Her head was already off the pillow when she realized she was awake and holding the phone. She raised it to her ear. "Hello?" she said, her voice still thick with sleep and confusion.

"I need you to get down here, right now!"

Lorelai knuckled her eyes and struggled to sit up. "Luke?"

"She's been here since _five thirty_ and she won't leave. She just keeps ordering and ordering and ordering—"

"Luke, it's—" she paused and grabbed the clock on her bedside table, bringing it right up to her nose. "—six forty-five. On Sunday morning," Lorelai said. "I was sleeping! You ruined the mural!"

"What?"

She sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Who's ordering?" she asked wearily.

"Crazy Carrie," Luke said. He sounded slightly hysterical. "She's been away and now she's back and I guess she heard we're together because she's here and she won't go away and I don't know what to do and I need you here, right now."

"What the hell do you need me for?" she asked, shuffling around the room, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear as she stripped off her pjs and pulled on jeans. "Just have Lane or Caesar wait on her. Go upstairs."

"I would, but they're not here yet," Luke said.

"Gee, I wonder why," she replied. "It couldn't be that it's quarter to seven on a Sunday morning and no one in the known world gets up this early when they don't have to?"

"Would you just come down here?"

"What will you do?" Lorelai asked.

"Whattaya mean?"

"I mean, what do I get?"

"Are you serious?"

She slumped back onto the bed. "You want me to come down there or not?"

"Whatever you want," he said. "Name it."

"Good. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Hurry," he said.

When she stumbled into the diner a short time later, she had yet to really open her eyes. She wore a bandana over her hair and a shirt she found on the floor by her dresser, a powder blue baby tee that Rory had given her as a joke two years ago with the words "cheeky monkey" across the chest and "bum looker" on the back. She opened her mouth to demand coffee and found herself swept into a tight embrace, Luke's arms around her. She collapsed against him, speaking into his shoulder.

"What are you _doing?_" she demanded.

"Creating an embarrassing display of public affection," he told her, whispering into her hair.

"Well, cut it out," she said. "I'm too tired."

He moved to let her go but she remained leaning against him, his chest supporting her whole weight. "If you want me to let you go, you've got to get off me," he said.

"I can't," she whined. "I'm too tired," she said again. "Someone woke me up from a really complicated dream."

Luke put his arm around her waist and hoisted her to an upright position, helping her to a chair. She folded her arms on the table top and let her head fall forward, groaning, as Luke told her he'd get her coffee. When he set the cup before her, he drew a chair up beside her and put his hand at the base of her neck.

"Come on," he said. "Drink up."

She clasped the cup in both hands and took a long sip, staring at him as she did. "I hate you," she told him after a moment.

"It's not that early," he said.

She put the cup down. "I went to bed at four in the morning, Luke. It's that early."

He rubbed her neck a moment and rose. "I'll make you some breakfast."

As he walked away, Lorelai felt her head beginning to clear. The diner was strangely empty, with only a few people scattered about. Carrie sat at a table near the window at the back of the diner, pretending not to watch Lorelai over the top of her newspaper. Kirk sat at the table directly beside Lorelai's not bothering to pretend he wasn't watching her.

"Morning, Kirk," she greeted him.

He nodded and busied himself with his oatmeal, still watching her as he ate. She narrowed her eyes at him and rested her chin in her hand, staring vacantly out the window and draining her coffee cup until Luke returned with a plate of pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs. He turned a chair around and straddled it, folding his arms across the back. Mechanically, she began to eat.

"Why were you up until four in the morning?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I was working in Rory's room."

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Because you're annoying," she told him, spearing a sausage link with her fork and waving it at him. She nodded in Carrie's direction. "She looks pretty quiet to me," she said. "That's what you called me down here for?"

Luke glowered as he spoke. "She sat down when she saw you coming. You should have been here before."

"She try and suffocate you with her boobs?" Lorelai asked, giggling suddenly.

"What?"

She laughed again and leaned forward, resting her forehead on Luke's elbow. "Inside joke. You had to be there." She raised her head. "What was she doing?"

_"Flirting_," he said darkly.

"Care to elaborate?" Lorelai asked. He shook his head, his expression pained. She reached past him for the maple syrup and snickered again, gesturing at him with it. "Syrup," she said. "Good times."

This caused him to grin. "Good times," he repeated. He pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen. "I gotta get things going. It's gonna get busy."

Lorelai nodded silently and poured syrup over her breakfast. She ventured a few glances at Carrie as she ate, smiling when she happened to catch the other woman's eye. Carrie could only purse her lips in response. When her plate was mostly cleared, Lorelai sat back in her seat and sighed. She turned to face Kirk.

"What's up, Kirk?" she asked.

He shook his head mutely.

"Come on," she said. "You've been looking at me all morning. What's going on?" Still, he said nothing. "Cat got your tongue?"

He opened his mouth, as though to prove this was not the case, and closed it again. He did this several times before he cleared his throat and spoke. "I'm afraid I might say something to you that could be deemed inappropriate," he said. "Because of the meeting the other night," he added.

Lorelai nodded, closing her eyes. "Well, don't worry about it, Kirk. I'm sure you won't say anything even nearing the vicinity of inappropriate. Let's just forget it even happened, okay?"

"Well," he said. "Okay." He pointed at her. "Want to give me some sugar?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and stared at him a moment before realizing he indicated at something on her table. She pushed the sugar dispenser towards him. "_That _sugar," she said.

"Thanks, Lorelai. I would also like to apologize for telling Taylor that I suspected you and Luke were dating. I had to protect my interests," he said.

"Your interests?"

"The betting pool is pretty high—twelve hundred dollars in all—and my odds of winning were _greatly_ increased because it appeared that you were keeping the relationship under wraps—"

"The betting pool?"

Kirk poured a generous spoonful of sugar into a coffee cup as he spoke, stirring vigorously, watching his hand as he did. "We have a pool about you and Luke, the town, like they do during Super Bowl season. It's been in place for quite some time. I've elected to re-up in favor of the marriage pool, but—"

Lorelai raised her hands, shaking her head. "Please, Kirk, I beg you to stop."

"Please don't tell Luke," he asked her. "I feel we've established a rapport, and I'm really afraid he'd beat me up."

"Afraid who would beat you up?" Luke asked, coming to refill Lorelai's coffee cup.

Kirk took an enormous sip of coffee in lieu of response, turned red, and began to cough. Luke looked questioningly at Lorelai, but she rolled her eyes, saying, "trust me, you don't want to know." She tipped her chin towards the back where Carrie sat. "She keeps staring at me. I feel like she's that kid in _The Shining_ and she's about to crook her finger at me and make it talk: redrum, redrum!" she said. "Or like I should mark my territory—give you a big old tongue kissing or let you take me right here on the table."

Luke leaned down, putting his lips to her ear. His cheek just touched hers and Lorelai could feel the heat rising in her face. "I assure you, in that particular fantasy," he whispered, his voice low and husky, "it's always been just you and just me."

He pulled back slightly and raised one eyebrow. She put her hand flat on his chest and pushed him away. "Tease," she murmured.

Lorelai dawdled over coffee for the next half hour as Lane and Caesar arrived and the diner began to fill. She watched Luke navigate around tables and customers, take orders, bring plates. Lane made sure to keep her cup topped off at all times.

"Cute shirt," she told Lorelai.

Lorelai looked down and pulled at the front to read what it said. "Oh, God. I love this shirt—the first time I wore it, three people made a comment about my ass," she said. "You should wear it to your next gig."

"Thanks, Lorelai," Lane said. "You heard from Rory at all?"

"She's in Florence right now," Lorelai said. "I think she's doing all right. And how are you?"

"Oh, everything's the same—well, I am having dinner with my mother this week. At the house," she added. "That's a step forward. I feel like I'm being reinstated, or something."

"Oh, honey, that's great," Lorelai said, putting her hand on Lane's wrist and giving it a squeeze. "Do you mind if I ask you a huge favor?" she asked.

They chatted for a few moments more, until Lane was summoned to another table for an order and a coffee refill. Lorelai took one final chug of coffee and rose, peering towards the back corner of the diner, where Luke stood trying not to make eye contact with Carrie as he cleared her table. Lorelai shoved a few bills under her coffee cup and strode purposefully to him.

"Hey, Carrie," she purred, slipping her arm about Luke's waist. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, turning her face away from the other woman: "relax." She smiled a broad, plastic smile at Carrie and leaned into Luke. "How are you? Enjoying summer break so far?"

Carrie shuffled her paper and averted her eyes. "Yep. Uh-huh."

"Oh, well that's just great," Lorelai enthused, cuddling closer to Luke's side. "Got any big plans?"

"Nope," Carrie said.

"Well, have fun," Lorelai said, easing Luke away from the table. "I'm just going to steal the man here for a sec, okay?" She grabbed his hand and led him towards the door and out to the sidewalk. She stepped back and put her hands in her pockets. "Enough with the pawing in public," she said.

"You started it," Luke retorted.

"No, you did," she returned, pouting, "with the whole embarrassing display of public affection thing. Against the rules," she said.

"So there are rules now?" he asked.

"Unwritten rules."

Luke passed his hand over his face, clearly irritated. "Do me a favor," he said. "Write them down."

"Just—stay away from Carrie, okay? She doesn't need a whole lot for encouragement," she told him. "Listen, I found this amazing, enormous armoire for Rory's room at Kim's store yesterday, but it's in rough shape. I thought we could gut it—"

"We?"

"Well, you, then," she conceded. "It just needs a little fixing up. And picking up. I was wondering if you could go by, take a look at it? I told Mrs. Kim that if you approve, she can just charge it to my account and make arrangements with you to pick it up whenever's convenient. Is that okay?"

"Sure. You going to be home today?"

Lorelai nodded. "It is Sunday," she said. "I'm going to finish up the painting in Rory's room."

"Good. I'll be by later—I'm going to head out of here early, get to work on some of those shelves," he said. "I'll see you then."

"Wait, I believe we have to discuss the repayment of a favor," Lorelai said.

He gave her a hard look. "The armoire isn't repayment of a favor?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No—that's an extension of a favor in progress, which would be helping me with Rory's room. This is something else."

Luke put his hands on his hips and glowered, waiting. "What?"

Lorelai tucked her hair behind her ears and took a breath. "How does dinner in Hartford tonight with me and my dad sound?"

"Ah, geez, Lorelai," he groaned, grabbing his hat with both hands. "You serious?"

"You said you'd do anything!" she cried. "And he asked for you, specifically!"

"When?" he demanded.

Lorelai tilted her chin down and looked at her toes. "The other day when I talked to him about it," she said.

"And you're asking—"

"Today, so you can't back out," she told him. "Please, Luke? Please, please, please? It'll be the first time I'll have seen him since the town meeting and he asked for you to come and I would really like it if you could be there."

"Why?" he asked.

"Honestly? I don't want to face my dad by myself," she said. "Please? He asked for you. And I'd be really appreciative," she added.

He rolled his eyes and worked his jaw a moment, considering. "Ah, geez," he said again. "Fine."

She dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I'll see you back at the house."

Lorelai had not gone five steps before Luke called to her. He was grinning; she looked at him expectantly.

"Dinner with your dad," he said. "Don't you think that's, I don't know, _rushing things?"_

She turned on her heel and stalked in the direction of home, giving him the finger over her shoulder as she went. She could hear him laughing as he returned to his diner.

Lorelai hugged herself as she walked home, thinking over the past few weeks. _Dear Rory,_ she thought._ Would I do anything differently? When I think of what I would change—sending Jason home at the Inn that night, not sending _you_ home that night, locking Kirk up securely in his room, tied to the bed (despite the disturbing imagery that presents), exiling Dean to Siberia to be a criminal day-laborer—I think of things that maybe had to happen. I've gone over all these things a million times, from the moment my parents came for the test run—before that, even, to the dance at Liz's wedding—to just the other day when I took Luke upstairs and we fell asleep together and since then… _

_I don't know what since then. Since then he hasn't stayed over, but we've spent time together, we've had meals and conversations and we've worked on your room, him in the garage, me in the house, and it's been normal and awkward and kind of like that first date we had in Hartford. But I digress—I've gone over all these things and I don't think things could have happened any other way._

_If they had—say I sent Jason home and kept you with me, Luke wouldn't have kissed me and I wouldn't have kissed him back, not the same way—maybe we would have gone out on Sunday and it would have been uncomfortable and strange and everything would have gone wrong and I would have told him he was too good a friend to lose and then he would be lost to me anyway. You and Dean wouldn't have slept together, and you wouldn't have gone away, and Dad would never have begun to figure out how he's messed up, what he needs to do, and I never would have begun to think of it either, and we'd all go on being angry forever, maybe. And Jason would have come back one way or another, and who knows—without Luke, maybe I'd go back to the way it was with him… _

_But if we're talking in maybes like that, maybe if someone had sat down with Marky Mark and explained to him that no, he's not Cary Grant, then we could have escaped the whole _The Truth About Charlie _debacle. Or, to go back farther, maybe if someone had said that no one really wanted Harrison Ford to try and out-Bogie Bogart we would have had one less really bad Julia Ormond film on record and the whole remaking of Audrey Hepburn movies could have been put to an end. Because at this rate, we're getting Jennifer Love Hewitt in the biopic and Mandy __Moore__ trying to do her own _Roman Holiday, _and in the end it's all tragedy and grim spectacle. Maybe we'd be living in a universe where nothing ever changed except Christina Aguilera's hair color. It would be a time of innocence and naiveté, a time when people believed the whole Kabbalah thing was really just a fad for Madonna, knowing that at the end of the summer she'd be on the Revirginized Tour. _

_But Rory, babe, it's not possible. It's not even a good idea. And though it would be nice for Madonna to be like a virgin again, without Britney and Christina, and for Marky Mark to shut up and just model the underwear, and for people to let Audrey be Audrey and be done with it, everything else—things needed to change, for both of us. We needed to change. Even if some of it sucked, for both of us and the viewing public at large. In the long run, I really think, and I have to believe it anyway, that it's all for good._

_Plus—I am the worst mother in the world for this, babe, but my, God, I'm only human—I don't know that I would trade that first kiss with Luke for anything. Both of those first kisses. _

Lorelai nearly walked into her mailbox, thinking of the way he drew her in the first time and then backed away, how he let her breathe, waiting during the beat that there was distance between them; she could remember thinking only, _Luke_, and wanting to close the distance, and then kissing him again, needing to hold onto him and, when she remembered to breathe again, thinking, _oh, God; Luke._ She stubbed her toe and looked about her, collecting herself.

_No, Rory—the past few weeks may have been too much in a lot of ways, but I wouldn't take it back. And I know you're too smart to want that, too. Hope you're having fun and the weather is gorgeous. Love you, Mom._

It wasn't until she had the front door open and she was nearly in the house that she saw Dean on the porch swing, sitting silently, his head in his hands. She stopped and for a brief moment considered going inside without speaking to him. She cleared her throat.

"Dean?"

He looked up. "Lorelai," he said, as though he were surprised to see her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. It was harsher than she meant it to be.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, getting to his feet. "Can I talk to you?"

She shook her head. "You don't want to talk to me, Dean. You want to talk to Rory. I'm certainly not her and I'm not going to be your way to her, either," she said.

Dean rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. "I just thought—"

"Did you? Did you think? Because if you did, Dean, you probably wouldn't have ended up here. And I'm not just talking about today," Lorelai said. She bit her lip. "It's not my business, not you and Lindsay. Rory is my business. But I won't play messenger for you, Dean. If I had my way—" she began.

"If you had your way she never would have gotten on my motorcycle in the first place," he said.

Lorelai nodded. "Metaphorically speaking. I told you that the first time you came here. You broke a trust with this family, Dean, and I'm not sure you can fix it. I'm positive I'm not going to help you."

She watched him as he slumped, ran his hand through his hair, and she saw with a touch of sympathy he was still sixteen years old. "I don't know what to do," he said.

"I can't tell you that," she said flatly. "And honestly, Dean, I don't really care what you do. I care what Rory does. I care how this affects Rory. Maybe that means I'll have to care what happens to you and what you do next at some point, but at the moment? Rory's not here, and you're not the one I have to worry about." She sighed. "Do what you have to do, Dean, whatever that is." She opened her front door and went to step inside.

"Lorelai," he said. "I—"

She raised her hand. "Whatever you're about to say to me, Dean, is something you should probably say to Rory, so I don't want to hear it." She looked at him. "I'm not the one you need to talk to."

"I care about Lindsay," he said. "I do."

Lorelai closed her eyes. "And she loves you. But, again, Dean, I don't need to hear it. If you're looking for a pal, you're knocking on the wrong door." She pulled her screen door shut behind her. "Go home, Dean. Go to church. Go to work. Go wherever you were going when you ended up here. This isn't where you need to be right now."

He hesitated. "Will you tell Rory—"

"No," she said firmly. "I won't. I'm going to turn around now, and I'm going to close the door. You should go."

"I never wanted any of this," Dean said desperately.

Lorelai looked at him around her door as she eased it shut. "But this is what you got, Dean," she said. "Go."

When Luke arrived later that afternoon, he found Lorelai sitting atop the ladder in Rory's room, surveying her work and thoughtfully tapping a paintbrush against her left temple. He stood at the bottom of the ladder and looked up at her.

"It looks good," he said.

She smiled sadly. "I like it," she replied.

She used a cornflower blue for the walls and a soft, lemony yellow for accents. Though Luke had eschewed anything like stenciling years ago when she mentioned it for the diner, he had to admit the curlicue, loopy doodling Lorelai had been freehanding at the top of each wall, creating a ring around the room just by the ceiling, was quite pretty. It vaguely matched the curving design of the headboard he'd made for the bed. The room was going to come together nicely, he thought, with the yellow curtains and duvet cover, the shelving he'd planned for the walls. Rory would finally have enough space for her entire library.

Luke helped Lorelai down from the ladder and they stood in the room together, silent. After a moment, he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"She's going to like it," he told her.

Lorelai crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin up, trying to focus on what was before her. "I hope so," she said.

"Everything okay?" Luke asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

She nodded and went into the kitchen, taking a bottle of water from the fridge. "Dean was here when I got back from the diner this morning," she said.

"What did he want?"

She shrugged. "To talk to someone. I sent him away."

"That's probably best," Luke said, his tone cautious.

"I didn't know what else to do. It's not my problem to fix, you know? Anyway," she said, sighing, "I did go over and ask Babette if she'd heard any scuttlebutt—"

"Scuttlebutt?"

"—around town about Dean and Lindsay, and she said all she's heard is that they squabble sometimes and they're scraping to get by, but other than that, nothing. Typical first year of young marriage, she said. I just don't know why he'd come by today, you know, and not three weeks ago," she said.

"Maybe they had a fight," Luke suggested.

"Maybe," she replied. He watched her shake herself. She smiled too brightly at him. "Doesn't matter. I just want to get this room done. To my sewing machine, I am away," she said.

He followed her through the house as she made her way upstairs. "Lorelai," he called. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at him. "Whatever happens, Rory's going to deal with it. She's going to be fine."

Lorelai put her hands on her hips, stared at her feet a beat, breathing. "I know. I just—I feel like since she's been gone, I've—I've forgotten to worry about her. I mean, I haven't, because I think of her, and everything, and I wonder what she's doing and how she's doing and what new and interesting way my mother's torturing her, but—I don't know, maybe I've been too wrapped up in my own stuff to think about what it's going to be like for her when she gets back."

"That's okay, you know," Luke said. "You have to have your own life."

She tucked her hair behind her ears and moved to go to her room. "Sure," she said. "I'll be up here."

At quarter to six, Luke returned to the house from the garage and found Lorelai passed out on her bed, wrapped in Rory's new duvet and surrounded by the new pillow shams she'd made, her arms tucked up under head, her feet hanging off the bed. He grinned and grabbed her ankle, wiggling her foot.

She rolled over, groaning. "Are you ever going to let me sleep?" she whined.

He dropped the bag he'd brought in with him by the bed and took off his flannel shirt, threw it at her. "We're going to have to leave soon," he said.

Lorelai sat up, tossing the shirt back at him. Her face was creased with sleep and her lids were heavy. She looked over at Luke as he pulled his tee shirt over his head. He picked up his duffle and put it on the bed, searched for something inside. She stared at his bare shoulders, his arms, his chest. For the second time that day, she felt her cheeks flush. "What are you doing?" she asked faintly.

He looked up. "I have to take a shower before we go," he said. "That okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, fine," she said. "You've got good arms," she told him.

He tried not to smile. "What?"

"Arms," she said, pointing. "Good."

"Thanks," he said. "Grew them myself."

"Not to say that the torso's substandard, either," she said, kneeling and crawling across the bed. "'Cause it's not. It's all good. With the skin and the muscles and everything." She paused in front of him and gave him a once-over with her eyes. "When do you have time to work out and be so in shape, Mr. I'm-At-Work-All-the-Time?"

"Am I in shape?" he asked, looking down as though to figure out what she was talking about.

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "You're cocky, is what you are," she told him. She rose from the bed and walked to her closet, shaking her hair out of its bandana. She stood in front of her clothes, rifling through her wardrobe, muttering. "No reason to walk around with a shirt on at all," she said to herself.

"Right back at you," Luke said.

She turned to give him a dirty look only to see that he'd lost his jeans as well and was on his way to the bathroom in only his boxers. He stretched as he walked, faking a yawn, showing off, she thought.

"Mean!" she called after him. "Go flaunt yourself in someone else's house!"

He stuck his head around the door. "I do not flaunt," he said. "You're the one turning an innocent situation into something it isn't."

"You're so transparent," Lorelai shot back, but she was grinning, now, too. She pointed at him. "You're just trying to break me."

"No such thing," he said, calling to her as he walked to the bathroom.

"I am not that easy, buster!" she hollered. She leaned forward and buried her face in an old sweater. "God, I'm totally that easy," she said. "Stupid slowing down."

They moved gingerly around each other as each got ready for the dinner, giving themselves a wide berth when they had to cross paths. Luke didn't meet her eyes for fear he'd laugh, and Lorelai seemed afraid to get close enough for accidental contact. She ultimately banished him to the living room when he had dressed.

"You're making me all nervous, watching me," she said, standing in front of the mirror in her bathrobe, brandishing her eyelash curler. "This is a delicate process."

He rose from the bed, where he had been seated to put on his shoes, and walked to where she stood before her dresser. Deliberately, he put his arm around her waist and drew her close. She turned her face away, giving him access only to her cheek. He kissed her, then, on the tender place just behind her ear, and held her tightly to him. She closed her eyes, feeling the familiar flutter behind her ribcage that his kisses never failed to produce. She gave in for a moment, arching her back slightly. She heard herself make a soft, pleading noise in the back of her throat, and suddenly remembered that this was not the way things were supposed to go. She gave him a hard shove and put her hands out in front of her, clacking the eyelash curler she still held in her hand.

"Stop it!" she cried. "Bad! Bad, bad, Luke! You're not supposed to do that! And stop smiling, you big jerk!" She stamped her foot. "Bad!"

"Well," he smirked, "depending on how you look at it."

Lorelai drew herself up to her full height and pointed towards the door again. "Out. I have to get ready. To have dinner _with my father._ Just remember that while you're coming up with new ways to violate me, we're going to sit down and eat with the man from whose loins I am sprung." She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. "And now, I will never have sex again. Ever. Or eat. Or possibly leave the house and engage in regular social interaction. You see what you've done? You've turned me into a hermit! An anorexic, unsatisfied hermit. Are you happy now?"

He was already on his way out the door, waving his hand at her. "You don't scare me," he said.

"No, but Richard Gilmore sure will!"

They left only slightly later than planned, Luke behind the wheel of his truck. Lorelai couldn't help but remember their first date in Hartford, how nervous they both were. She caught herself fidgeting again, unable to keep her hands still. She looked over at Luke. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"You look pale," she told him.

"I do not look pale," he said, immediately, harshly.

"Fine," she said. "You're not pale." She paused. "You don't have to be nervous. I was joking before. Mostly," she added.

He cleared his throat. "I am not nervous," he said, at length.

"Okay."

Luke looked at her side-long. "Stop staring at me, Lorelai."

She turned to face the road in front of them. "Not staring," she said, giggling. "You are so nervous," she told him.

"I am not nervous," he said again.

"Luke? What did you guys talk about, you know, after the meeting?" she asked.

He shifted in his seat. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, after Jason called me a commitment-phobic whore in front of the entire town, I took off, you were in charge of my dad—what did you talk about?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

"Liar," she said. "Come on, Luke. You exchange tips on how to tie the best bow tie? On the proper way to execute a left hook? On the best fly fishing steams in Connecticut? Did you talk about the latest Charlie Rose interview? Or, or, better yet," she said, sitting forward in her seat, "you talked about strategies to use when applying to the Colonial House—"

Luke put up a hand. "We didn't talk about anything!" he said.

Lorelai sat back, folded her hands in her lap. "Dad would be a pretty good governor," she said after a moment, somewhat petulantly. "They'd probably make you be a freeman, though, and—"

"Would you stop it with the talking already?" Luke barked. "Geez."

"That bad, huh?" she asked.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "It was—let's just say it was uncomfortable."

She was silent a moment. "Okay, so, what? I'm all—you can't just stop there. That's like—like, I don't know, like having a dirty movie on cable that you can _hear_ but you can't see, and you don't really want to watch it, but all you can think about is all the stuff you're hearing, and—"

"Could you not liken the conversation I had with your dad to garbled sex films on Cinemax?" he asked.

She giggled. "Luke knows where to listen to the dirty movies," she said. "Interesting."

He sighed heavily. "He just—he defended you. He called that guy—"

"Jason," Lorelai said slowly.

"—a rat bastard," he continued, "and said some other stuff."

"About Jason?"

"About Jason," Luke said, defeated. "Your dad—he basically said you'd never defended your life to anyone before and you wouldn't start doing it now, not for Jason or anyone. That you shouldn't, or something. I don't know. This is very—"

"Uncomfortable, I know," Lorelai said, rolling her eyes. "What else?"

Luke shrugged. "He just—he said some stuff about secrets and paying attention and people leaving and—I don't know," he said lamely.

"You do," Lorelai said.

They were at a stop light, and Luke turned to face her. "Yeah. But he was pretty much talking to himself, Lorelai. It wasn't for anyone to hear. I shouldn't even be telling you this." He shifted gears and moved with the traffic. "He—he was just worried people would judge you."

"Of course he was," she said flatly. Lorelai leaned her forehead against the window. "Same old," she whispered.

"Lorelai?"

"Never mind," she said. "Good thing you're driving, though."

"Why's that?"

She looked at him. "One sure way to survive a Gilmore dinner? Mass consumption of alcohol, my friend. Oh, yes. The libations will be flowing this evening."

"Turn here?" he asked, ignoring this.

"Yeah. Just don't look the three-headed dog in the eye—eyes—it gets him angry," she said. "And when you're entering hell, the last thing you need is a pissed off, three-headed dog."

They parked in the drive and Lorelai walked Luke to the door. He raised his hand to ring the bell and she reached out, putting her hand on his wrist. She took both his hands in hers and looked him earnestly in the eye.

"Okay, remember," she began. "You love me. I'm amazing. I'm fantastic. I'm—I'm the shiznit. I'm all that and a bag of chips. I'm—I'm—I'm like Renee Zellweger to your Tom Cruise, but without the whole squinty thing. I'm—"

Luke squeezed her hands. "Relax," he said. "It's going to be fine."

"Famous last words," she said. She took a long look around her. "Just in case," she said, and leaned forward, drawing his arms around her waist, kissing him fiercely.

He disentangled himself and swept a hand through his hair. "We're at your _parents'_ house," he hissed.

Lorelai rolled her eyes and pressed the doorbell. "Believe me, it's seen racier stuff than that," she drawled. "Prepare yourself."

A maid Lorelai didn't recognize let them in and led them to the parlor where they always waited for dinner. Lorelai strode immediately to the bar and began to help herself. She poured a few martinis and gestured for Luke to sit, dropping beside him and slurping her drink. They were silent, waiting, inching away from each other. After a moment, Richard entered, folding a newspaper under his arm.

"Ah, Lorelai," he said. "Luke. Good to see you again." He extended a hand to Luke as the other man rose to greet him.

"Sir," Luke said.

"Hi, Dad," Lorelai said. "Drinks are already poured."

He looked at her where she sat. "I see you've a head start," he remarked, walking to the bar and retrieving the glass she'd set out for him.

"I'm a whole lap ahead of you," she said, rising and heading for another. "How's things, Dad?"

He grimaced, sipping his drink. "Lorelai, who in the world taught you to make a martini?" he asked.

Lorelai paused, holding the vodka bottle. "Moe of Moe's Tavern," she said. Off her father's blank look, she put the bottle down. "Christopher."

Richard took Luke's drink from him and stood beside Lorelai. "Terrible," he said. "Let me show you."

She watched him pour the liquor, her eyes fixed to his face rather than the bottles and shaker. He handed her a fresh drink with a broad smile. Her own was pained, but she accepted the glass with thanks and lifted it towards Luke before quickly downing it.

"Nice, Dad," she said, gasping. She put her glass down and crossed her arms over her chest, taking a seat. "So. Retirement."

Richard waved his hands dismissively. "I'm only semi-retired now, Lorelai. Floyd and his partners have me on retainer as a consultant," he said. "I've taken a similar position with another firm as well. It's all very above-board, very dignified, involving a vast number of very dull telephone calls, though no traveling, and no having to go to the office."

Lorelai raised her brows. "Sounds fantastic," she said.

Luke nodded, silent.

"I don't know about _fantastic,_ Lorelai, but it will do for now," Richard said. He turned to Luke. "So, Luke. How is that diner of yours?"

Luke tilted his head in a so-it-goes gesture. "You know—people come, they order, they eat, they block their arteries."

"Delightful," Richard said.

"I think so," Lorelai said brightly. "I know mine are nearly gridlocked." Her father blinked. "Dinner?"

Richard checked his watch. "Another ten minutes or so." He turned to Luke again. "Would you like a tour of the house?" he asked.

Lorelai jumped out of her chair. "Oh, Dad, that's not—"

"You don't have to," Luke agreed, rising.

Richard got to his feet as well, brushing the lapels of his jacket. "Nonsense. I've some things to speak to the cook about. I can take care of that, and Lorelai can show you around," he said. "I'll send someone for you when dinner is ready."

"Sure, Dad," Lorelai said. "You'll send someone." She put out her hand to Luke. "Come on. I'll take you to the dungeon first."

She led him by the hand up the stairs and down the hall to her old room, closing the door behind them. She leaned against it, taking a breath, her eyes closed. She put a hand to her forehead, peeking at Luke through her fingers.

"That was—" he began.

"Awful? Painful? Like red-hot pins under your nails? Like Red Hots, the candy, eight thousand of them, burning a hole in your tongue?" she supplied.

"I was going to say interesting," he said.

Lorelai threw herself on the bed, groaning. "Not the first word that comes to mind," she said.

"It's not that bad," he told her.

"Luke, burnt toast is not that bad. This? This is like a cup of coffee with salt instead of sugar," she said.

"You're overreacting."

She sat up. "It's what I do," she said.

Luke was studying the doll's house, peering into the windows. In the pink and ruffles of her childhood bedroom, he was the only thing that belonged to her life. He stooped to examine the detailing of the house's exterior, his hands in his pockets. He had on the brown sweater she recognized from the test run at the Dragonfly. She bit her lip. _He's beautiful,_ she thought.

"So, I'm guessing this is your old room," he said.

"It is that." She pushed herself to her feet and stood in the middle of the room. "This is where I waited for Rory," she said, making a sweeping motion with her arm. She took his hand and pulled him towards the balcony, throwing the window open and stepping outside. "This is where I spent most of my time, though."

He nodded, taking in his surroundings. "Huh," he said.

"What's 'huh' mean?"

"Huh means—nothing. I just—this is where you grew up," he said. "I'm just looking."

"I did that, too," she told him. She leaned back towards the window. "Quick, inside. My dad's calling." She shivered. "Déjà vu."

The dinner might not have been up to Emily's standards, Lorelai thought, though she didn't say so, but it was still good. The wine, as always, was excellent. She and Luke sat opposite each other—_Dear Rory,_ she thought, _it is extremely weird to have Luke in your chair, and I don't want to think about it any more than that._—with Richard at the head of the table, serving. He took charge of the conversation, asking about the progress Lorelai was making at the inn. She explained to him her arrangement with Winky Bedermeier, of which he did not wholly approve.

"There should be contracts for these sorts of things," he told Lorelai. "There should be lawyers involved. There are regulations to follow."

She shrugged. "This is the way they want it, Dad. They're moving _out_ of a nursing home. They want the place to feel like theirs. I'm just helping out."

Richard speared a piece of meat and waved it at Luke. "Have you met this Winky-woman?" he asked.

Luke shook his head. "But I've heard a lot about her. She sounds like a real… interesting person," he said.

Lorelai smiled archly. "A pisser, one might say."

"Really, Lorelai," Richard said. He sighed. "Well. If there's any way I can assist—"

"I'll let you know," she said. "Thanks, Dad."

They chatted a bit about the summer season and Lorelai's plans for the fall, the event planning service she was advertising in her brochures. Richard often called on Luke to offer his opinion on the matter. Luke kept his answers short and his eyes fixed to the spot on the tablecloth just above his plate, his jaw tense. Lorelai wished she could tell him this wasn't a test; she both wanted to thank her father for attempting to include Luke and to gag him with his bow tie to put an end to it. She was grateful when the cook came to clear the dinner plates and brought out a small chocolate cake.

"See, they should just do this first," she said. "The other stuff should be optional."

"It is in your world," Luke replied immediately, giving her a dark look.

She grinned. "My world is a beautiful place."

Richard cleared his throat and lifted his dessert fork. "Lorelai," he began, "you should know that Jason Stiles has left the state."

Her mouth fell open. "Dad, I—that is, I—is this really—"

"I thought it important information that you should have at your disposal," he said. "That is all. No charges were filed, as he did indeed fully refund Mr. Doose for the speaking fee. And that is all that need be said of the matter."

"Dad," Lorelai sighed. "Maybe—"

Richard swallowed a mouthful of cake. "That is all that need be said," he said, his voice firm, but kind. "The man is gone."

Lorelai smoothed the napkin in her lap. "Thank you, Daddy," she said. She looked at him. "I am sorry for what happened. We should—"

"Very well, very well," he said, cutting another slice of cake. "How do you find the cake, Luke?"

"It's, ah, it's good," Luke stuttered. "Good."

"Good," Richard repeated. "Perhaps we can adjourn to the other room for coffee," he said.

"That's what I like to hear," Lorelai said, sliding another slice onto her plate and rising. "You don't mind if I take this in there, do you, Dad?" she asked, already on her way to the other room.

"Well, I suppose," he said, slightly bewildered as he rose.

"It's the coffee," Luke told him. "She's like a pig with truffles."

"Heard that!" she called.

Once again, they found themselves seated in the parlor, sipping from dainty cups, eyeing each other uncomfortably. After several moments, Richard cleared his throat.

"Lorelai, I wonder if you might give me a moment with Luke," he said.

"What for?"

He regarded her sternly as he spoke. "For a private matter," he told her.

"What kind of private matter?" she asked.

"The nature of the matter is private, Lorelai, and therefore not something I can disclose. Because it is _private._"

Lorelai looked at Luke, who shrugged. She furrowed her brow. "But—I'm sorry, Dad, but what can you have to talk about with Luke that I can't hear? What's private?"

"Do not be tiring, Lorelai," Richard said, a sigh in his voice.

Luke indicated with his head towards the door. "It's fine," he said, his voice low.

"Fine for you," she said. "You're not the one who has to leave."

"Lorelai," Richard said again.

She rose. "Whatever," she said.

_Rory, where are you when I need you to spy?_ she thought. _It's just not right. It's not—I can't even form the words beyond 'it's not right,' that's how not right it is. What are they talking about what are they talking about what are they talking about? I'll tell you what they're talking about, they're talking about Lorelai. Talking about Lorelai. And here's Lorelai, out in the hallway, having an imaginary conversation with her daughter and talking about herself in the third person. It's official, I've lost my mind._

She sat on the stairs, her elbows on her knees, waiting. She tapped her feet, humming. "She left the suds in the bucket and the clothes hanging out on the line," she sang to herself, slapping herself on the forehead with the flat of her palm. "Stupid country music," she muttered. "Stupid, stupid, stupid—"

She rose, seeing Luke leave the parlor and come towards her. "Okay, now you really do look pale," she said. "Are you sick?"

"No," he said. "It's fine. Your dad's getting our coats."

"What's going on?" she asked. "Did he say something to you? What did you talk about? Was it bad? Luke?"

He shook his head. "It's fine. I'm just—I'm—I'm full," he said.

"Yeah, you're full all right," she told him, heat rising in her face. "God," she breathed. "I knew this was such a bad idea—"

"It's fine," Luke said. "Calm down."

"Me calm down? You calm down! You're the one about to boot all over the hallway," she said. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing, he didn't say anything, it's fine," Luke said. "Now shut up, he's back."

Richard smiled broadly as he brought them their coats. Lorelai pursed her mouth tightly and regarded him with a sullen look as he said they should do this again. Luke was nodding slightly when Lorelai spoke.

"Luke, could I have a moment alone with my father, please?"

"Lorelai—"

"I'll meet you outside," she said tersely. "Please," she added.

Luke looked from Lorelai to Richard and back before excusing himself, thanking Richard for the dinner, shaking his hand. Lorelai waited until the door had shut behind him before speaking again.

"What did you say to him?" she demanded.

"I beg your pardon," Richard said.

"Obviously, you said something that upset him, and I want to know what it is. Dad," she said, her voice edging on a warning.

"It was a private—"

"I know, I know, a private matter. I don't care. I don't give a hoot in hell what was so private, Dad. If it has to do with me, or with me and Luke, or with me and Jason, it's not so private, and I have every right to know," she said.

Richard stood tall, looking down his nose at her. "Not everything is for you to know, my dear girl."

"It is when it concerns you saying something to upset someone I bring here, at your request, as a guest, who also happens to be the man I—my—the person I'm seeing," she finished, stumbling over her words.

"I am merely looking into what is in your best interest, Lorelai," Richard said.

"That's not something I need from you, Dad," she said, feeling her chest tighten and her breath quicken. "I am perfectly capable—"

"Believe me, Lorelai, I am well-versed in what you believe yourself to be capable of," her father said, turning away.

"Dad, what did you say to him?" she asked, her voice desperate. "What?"

Richard stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly, he seemed weary and small. "I asked his intentions toward you, Lorelai. I should have been doing so all—"

"You asked him _what?"_ she cried, balling her hands into fists.

"It is my right, as your father—"

"You have no right!" she told him. "No right at all!"

He put his hand out on the banister, as though to steady himself. "I have every right, Lorelai Gilmore—I have the right simply by being your father. I have the right to protect my family."

"Oh, God, Dad, you're not trying to protect your family," Lorelai said, shaking her head, disgusted. "You're trying to protect me from myself. So I don't end up with another Jason Stiles Town Meeting Confrontation." She waved her hands at him as she walked to the door. "Don't worry, Dad. It seems I've learned my lesson on that one," she said bitterly. "Stay out of my relationship with Luke."

"Stop right there, Lorelai." She stopped but did not turn. She knew he remained where he stood, as well. "I have every right," he said again. "I may not have always—but the fact remains that you are my daughter and your interests are my interests. What wouldn't you do to keep Rory from harm?"

She lifted her chin and wheeled around to face him. "That's not the same—"

"It's exactly the same," Richard said levelly. "Good night, Lorelai."

"I mean it, Dad. Stay out of my—"

"Good night, Lorelai."

Lorelai slammed both the front door of the house and the passenger side door of Luke's truck behind her to give vent to her feelings. She was vicious with the seat belt and threw herself back against the seat several times, stamping her feet.

"Stop abusing my truck," Luke said, as he pulled into traffic. "I guess he told you—"

"He told me he was interfering, which he didn't have any right to do, no matter what he says," Lorelai shot back. She rubbed her eyes. "God. Your intentions? I don't even—what do you even say to that? What did you say?" She paused. "It doesn't matter. It's not his business. It's no one's business. It's—he doesn't—you can't just ignore something for years and years and suddenly just—" She stopped, bit her lip as she realized how this might be misunderstood. "It's not his business," she said flatly.

Luke was silent a few moments. "I don't—I was unsettled by his asking, I was uncomfortable, I—I should have taken a few moments—"

"Don't," Lorelai said. "Don't make this your fault, because it's not your fault, it was completely inappropriate, and I apologize for it. It's understandable that you'd be upset—"

"I'm not upset," he said. "I was embarrassed. It was embarrassing."

"You're not upset?" she asked, her voice rising.

"No. I don't blame the guy. I can see where he's coming from."

"You can see where he's coming from?" she squeaked.

Luke looked at her from the corner of his eye. "That's what I said."

"How can you—I mean, what—how—I'm just—I don't even know what to say to that," she said.

He shrugged. "And I don't understand what the big deal is. I mean, I understand, but I don't think it has to be a big deal. He's just—he's worried for you, and he's trying—"

"He's _trying_ to butt into my life after not bothering to do it for the last twenty years, and it's offensive and ridiculous and completely unnecessary!" she said. "I've been taking care of myself—"

"It's not about whether or not you can take care of yourself," Luke said. "It's about looking out for—"

"And I don't need anyone to look out for me that way," Lorelai said.

"You've been pretty clear on what you don't need," he replied dryly.

She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. "Unbelievable. I can't believe you're turning this into—I can't believe you're taking his side."

"I'm not taking his side," Luke began.

"No? Then you're doing an incredibly good—"

He reached out and put his hand on her knee. "Lorelai. Let it go."

She jerked away from his touch. "I don't want to let it go. You don't know what's really going on here—you don't understand this man, my relationship with him—my relationship with my dad is nothing like—" She stopped. "Forget it. Just take me home." She stared out the window, hugging herself. "I can't believe you're taking his side," she said again, the words tumbling out too quickly.

Luke said nothing but Lorelai could feel the tension in his body from where she sat. He leaned over the steering wheel, as though willing the car forward until they reached her house. She slid out and held the door open a moment.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

He slouched and looked at her sadly. "Are you really going to be mad about this?"

"I just can't—I'm tired. I'm going to bed," she said, her voice flat. "Good night, Luke."

"Lorelai," he called after her. He got out of the truck. "Lorelai!"

She stopped at the top of the porch stairs. "Seriously? I don't want to talk about this with you right now. I don't—I want to go to bed. I want to go to bed and I want to sleep for many, many hours. I don't want to hear you defend him—"

"I'm not _defending_ him," Luke said. "Do you always have to jump to the most extreme conclusion?"

"Good night, Luke."

"Ah, come on, Lorelai, don't be like this!"

She fluttered her hand at him over her shoulder and closed the door behind her.


	26. The Learning Curve

The Learning Curve

At a quarter to eight on Monday morning, Lane filled the largest available to-go cup with coffee, stirred in a bit of cream and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, and threw a few muffins into a bag. She left the food on the table nearest the door, apologizing to the patron sitting there for momentarily disturbing him. She smoothed the front of her shirt and approached Luke in the kitchen.

"Luke? I have to go for a few minutes," she said, "if that's okay. I'll be really fast."

He looked up from the griddle, his brow furrowed. "What's up?" he asked.

Lane hesitated. She hung her head and averted her eyes as she spoke. "Female problems," she told him.

The color left Luke's face. Immediately, he busied himself with preparing a batch of eggs and hoarsely told Lane to take all the time she needed. She thanked him and left the diner quickly, retrieving the coffee and bag of muffins as she did. She crossed the street and went around the corner, where Lorelai was waiting, fanning herself.

"Holy mother of Henry Fonda, it is _hot_ today," she said, by way of greeting. She accepted the proffered cup of coffee and took a swig before speaking again. "You, lovely Lane, are an angel. Thanks for this. Did it work?"

Lane grinned. "Perfectly. I felt kind of bad about it."

"Oh, honey, no need," Lorelai said. "Just don't abuse it. You've discovered a powerful new tool against men like Luke, which, quite frankly, you should have done a long time ago." She took another sip of coffee. "I really appreciate this, Lane, you have no idea."

Lane pulled up the hem of her shirt and removed two CD cases from the waistband of her jeans. "Okay, so here they are. I made Brian take me to his parents' house and we downloaded there—"

"Legally, or do I have to worry that Brian's computer will be subpoenaed and your cute Korean butt will be jailed for piracy?" Lorelai asked.

"Brian made me use the Wal-mart music downloading website. I feel—I feel dirty," Lane said, shuddering. "Wal-mart, Lorelai! Wal-Mart!"

Lorelai put her hand on Lane's shoulder. "It was for a good cause, Lane. The music gods will forgive you. You may have to suffer in some sort of purgatory, of course—some place where they only play music by former Mousketeers or other Disney teenyboppers."

Lane's eyes went wide at the thought. "An afterlife with a soundtrack by Hillary Duff? Don't even joke about it." She took a moment to compose herself. "So, I did what you asked—mostly good, old-school country: Johnny, Waylon, Willie, Merle, Hank—Hank, Sr., obviously—Patsy, Loretta. There's some George Jones, some Dwight Yoakam—who did a really cool cover of 'Suspicious Minds,' by the way—and newer stuff, too, nothing too Faith Hill-ish, just some Mary-Chapin Carpenter, Vince Gill, Pam Tillis, Big and Rich, Alison Krauss, that Sara Evans chick you asked for, and, as promised, a really, really good lame song."

Lorelai took the CDs and grinned, turning them over in her hands. Lane had printed a song list on the back of each case. "Lane, this is above and beyond the call," she said. "This is amazing. Oh, my God: 'The Gambler'? You're my hero."

"You gotta know when to hold 'em, Lorelai," Lane said.

She nodded sagely. "And know when to fold 'em," she agreed. "Good. This is very, very good." Lorelai pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to Lane. "I'm totally in your debt, Lane," she said.

Lane looked inside the envelope and her mouth fell open. "Lorelai, I can't—"

"You had to pay for all those songs, right?"

"Yeah, but they were, like, less than a dollar each. This is just too much," she said.

"Well," Lorelai said, peeking in the paper bag Lane brought, "consider it a really big tip for excellent delivery service. Is that a chocolate chip muffin?" she asked. "It's not bran, is it?"

"Not bran, no—are you sure, Lorelai?" Lane asked, holding the envelope away from her, unsure of whether to take it or hand it back.

Lorelai put her arm around Lane and walked her back towards the main street. "I'm positive. You can thank me in the liner notes of your first album," she said.

Impulsively, Lane threw her arms around Lorelai and gave her a hug. "Thanks, Lorelai."

"No, thank you, Lane," she said. "I have to go listen to these. Any suggestions with where to start?"

"After 'Tell Me Something Bad About Tulsa,' everything will sound genius," Lane said. "Trust me."

"I already love it," Lorelai said. "I have to get to work, hon. I'll see you later, okay? Thanks again, so much."

Lane began to walk back to the diner, but Lorelai called for her to stop.

"Touch your head a lot, today," she said. "Every once in a while, just put your hand to your forehead and give a pained sigh." She demonstrated. "It'll be fun."

Lane laughed and waved.

When Lorelai reached the Dragonfly, Winky and her companions were standing about on the front lawn, watching their luggage get loaded into a waiting shuttle-bus. They had remained as long as there were rooms to keep them, but a convention in Hartford that coincided with graduations and reunions in and around Stars Hollow had forced Lorelai to tell Winky she could no longer keep renewing their stay on a daily basis, as had happened. She had been grateful for the business and was sad to see the elderly woman go with no sure return date set. Their first tea had been followed by a luncheon and a walk and Lorelai had often seen Winky and one or another of her friends wandering Stars Hollow, always walking arm-in-arm, leaning against each other, occasionally wheezing. She waved a hello and went immediately to Winky's side.

"Oh, it's sad that you're leaving," Lorelai sighed. "You seem like a part of this town already."

"You and I will be in touch, girlie, don't you worry," Winky assured her. "We are grateful to you for taking us on this way, and for being so generous with your time and your patience."

"Please," Lorelai said. "You all just paid for the doors, which, if you knew the saga, you'd appreciate what a big deal that is." She nodded towards the bus, which the others were boarding slowly, chattering to each other. "Have a safe trip, Winky. I'll talk to you soon."

As she leaned down to give the elder woman a hug, Winky put her hands on Lorelai's shoulders and whispered in her ear. "You get yourself sorted out, my girl," she said. "You do that by the next time I see you."

Lorelai hugged her gingerly, afraid a genuine embrace would break her. "I have a feeling I'll still be sorting myself out when I'm your age," she said ruefully.

Winky made her way to the bus and waved her cane in Lorelai's direction. "Don't wait that long, Ms. Lorelai. You get it sorted out," she said. Just before the door slid shut behind her, she called, "you'll thank me!"

Lorelai shook her head, smiling to herself as she entered the inn. On seeing the look on Michel's face, her eyes immediately narrowed and she readied herself for combat.

"Now that the last remaining Civil War veterans have removed themselves," Michel began, "shall I have the sheets burned?"

"Play nice, Michel," Lorelai said. "Those veterans are your bread and butter."

"Don't remind me," he simpered.

They conferred for a moment over the reservation book. Lorelai left Michel to the phones and barred herself in her office to make her own calls, to return email, to fuss over the numbers in her books, and to listen to the CDs Lane made for her. She settled in her chair with a cup of coffee and kicked off her shoes, tucking her feet up under her. There were still places bruised and tender, but most of the cuts were so small they had closed and were now only scratches that would fade and altogether disappear eventually. She winced a little, still, when she hit something the wrong way—the toe-stubbing yesterday had been an uncomfortable affair—but was more disappointed that wearing sandals for the rest of the summer would only be a reminder of the incidents of The Town Meeting. As she went about her morning business, something that was becoming routine fairly quickly, she had to marvel at how quickly the inn had begun to run itself, how her staff had fallen into line, how easily everything had worked out, how the inconsistencies and annoyances of day-to-day operations where just that: bumps on an even path. If she shut her eyes, she could imagine herself back at the Independence, where things ran smoothly in spite of the small daily catastrophes that she had always been able to handle quickly and easily. She opened her eyes. She liked this reality much better: it was hers.

She had lunch with Sookie in the kitchen, both loath to venture outside into the heat. She told her friend about the dinner the night before and her plan for that evening.

"What do you think?" she asked, sipping an over-large cup of coffee.

"I think it's a great plan, sweetie," Sookie replied. "But I also think Luke's right: you've got to stop jumping to the worst possible conclusion."

Lorelai nodded, biting her lips. "I just—I know. I do," she said. She met Sookie's eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I'm sixteen again, you know?"

Sookie grinned as though she understood, but shook her head vigorously.

"You remember how when you were sixteen, everything was enormous and overwhelming and every emotion was the one that was going to kill you? Everything was absolute and the end of the world, all the time? And that was normal?" she asked.

"Ah, that sixteen," Sookie said. "That, I remember. Thank God it's over."

"I know!" Lorelai said. "I mean, back then, it wasn't—you didn't think about the enormity of things, because that was just how it really was. Now, it's just exhausting. Being a grown up is _hard._"

Sookie took Lorelai's cup from her and refilled it. "Yeah, but it's nicer, too, in a lot of ways." She pushed a plate of cookies towards Lorelai. "Split one with me?"

"Split one? Get your own, sister," Lorelai said, grabbing several for herself. "So, tell me what I'm going to need. And, Sookie," she said, lowering her head and looking at her friend mock-seriously, "keep it as simple as humanly possible. Like, kindergarten simple. Simpler than that. Davey-simple."

"Relax, Lorelai," Sookie said, reaching for a pad of paper and a spoon. "Okay, let's see," she began.

Lorelai took the spoon from her and placed a pen in her hand. "You might need this, hon," she said.

After putting in her nine hours at the Inn, Lorelai drove her Jeep to Doose's and purchased the necessary items. As she paid, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Luke's. Lane answered on the first ring and agreed to meet her out back.

"Do you think you have enough stuff here, Lorelai?" Lane asked, hauling a few bags out of the Jeep.

"Trust me, it's better this way," Lorelai said darkly. "I bought two of everything so I can't mess it up. So, where is he?"

"He's in the kitchen. Caesar set a stack of towels on fire. It was perfect timing," Lane said.

"Fire?"

Lane shrugged. "It was a pretty small fire when I left," she said. "How're the CDs?"

"Perfect, Lane, thank you," Lorelai said. They struggled up the stairs together and dumped everything just inside Luke's doorway. Lorelai sighed and kicked the bags towards the center of the apartment, telling Lane she knew what to do. When Lane had gone back downstairs, Lorelai put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room in front of her. "Okay, Lorelai," she said. "Easy as pie." Immediately, she giggled. "Pie."

She put her bags on the table and began unpacking things. "Dear Rory," she said. "Your mother is a whack job. Whitney Houston has more brain cells at her disposal at this point than Lorelai Gilmore. In fact, Courtney Love is currently in better shape than I am. That is how desperate the situation has become. And if you were here, you'd agree with me. You'd agree with me, and you'd sit at this table while I attempted to make a fool of myself, and you'd laugh and laugh and laugh. And I, quite possibly, would laugh as well, and then I'd cry. Because I, my darling daughter? Am pathetic."

And with that, she kicked off her shoes, grabbed the small cloth bag she'd packed, and wandered into the bathroom to change. She took off her work clothes and stood in front of the sink in her underwear and bra before her resolution gave way and she peeked into the medicine chest. The contents were unsurprising: antiperspirant, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, athlete's foot cream—which caused Lorelai to wash her hands three times after she turned it over and discovered what it was—allergy eye drops. She was delighted to discover an ancient bottle of aftershave, which she assumed meant that Luke had seriously undertaken shaving at one point or another, and a fairly new bottle of moisturizer, half empty, which amused her. She closed the cabinet and finished changing into a thin tank top and a pair of cut-offs. Luke had no air conditioning in his apartment and as she pulled her hair into a high, loose knot, Lorelai could feel herself already becoming flushed and harried with the heat. She hummed to herself as she crossed the room again, picking things up and putting them down, inspecting Luke's possessions as she searched for the stereo, which she found by the door. She slid in the first of Lane's CDs and busied herself with the major task at hand.

The phone rang in the diner a moment later. Luke answered on the first ring. "Luke's… Luke's… Hello?"

"Yeah, hi. Can I speak to Lane, please?"

Luke hesitated. "Lorelai?"

She slapped her palm to her forehead. "Hey, you," she said.

"Everything okay?"

"Yep, yep, yep, everything's great," she chirped. "Just have a really quick question for Lane—nothing big, just a quick, quick question."

"Sure," he said slowly. "Hang on."

"Lorelai?" Lane asked. "What's going on?"

"How the hell do you turn this oven on?" Lorelai asked. "I mean, I'm usually pretty functional in the kitchen, but this oven is—it's like you need a match or something. I feel like I need kindling," Lorelai said.

"Maybe the pilot light's out," Lane said.

"That means nothing to me," Lorelai said. "Can you come up? Fake a cramp."

Five minutes later, the two of them stood side by side, peering into the oven in Luke's kitchen. Lorelai looked at Lane.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Turn on the gas, light a match, pray we don't die in a giant, fiery explosion?"

"Death by fireball is definitely not on my list of things to do before I turn twenty-five," Lane said. She handed Lorelai a match. "Just in case, though, Lorelai—" she began.

Lorelai grabbed her hand and shook her head theatrically. "Don't, Lane. No goodbyes. Not for us, not today," she declared, and leaned in with the match. "And we have a go, Houston!"

Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang downstairs once more. Lane, standing behind the counter, dived for the receiver before Luke had a chance to turn around and answer himself.

"Luke's," Lane said, breathless. She turned and covered her mouth with her hand. "You have to flour it," she said. "No, like—yeah, yeah, right. Yeah. No—yep, okay, okay, nope, it's good. Okay. Okay." She hung up and flashed a bright smile at Luke. She pointed to the kitchen. "Kirk's order up?"

"It's up," Luke said, staring at her, bemused. "You got something you want to tell me?"

"Nope, nope, nope, nothing to tell, nothing at all," Lane said. "Nothing at all, everything's—"

"Fine, fine, fine?" Luke suggested.

Lane nodded mutely and turned to get Kirk's dinner. Luke shook his head, chuckling, and was just reaching back for the coffee pot when he heard a tremendous crash from upstairs. Lane stopped dead in her tracks and turned her face up, an expression of desperation and horror combined on her features. Luke looked at her.

"You know what's going on up there?" he asked.

"No," Lane said, though she nodded her head in the affirmative.

"It have anything to do with Lorelai?" he asked, and was given the same answer in return. "Right," he said, taking his order pad and slamming it on the countertop. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

Luke opened the door to his apartment to find Lorelai struggling with a bag of baby spinach, her hands covered in flour, a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. On the floor beside her was an overturned chair and on the kitchen table sat a cookie sheet with an unevenly shaped, unbaked pizza shell smothered in tomato sauce alongside a cutting board and several tomatoes. Luke stepped inside and shut the door just as the plastic bag in Lorelai's hands gave way—gave way too much—and the spinach inside exploded out, fluttering to the floor.

Lorelai sighed, her hands on her hips. Luke stared a moment, speechless. She looked at him and nodded knowingly. "It's okay," she said. "I bought another bag, just in case that happened."

He began to laugh then, laughed so hard he doubled over and had to sit to catch his breath. She stood, her arms crossed over her chest, a petulant smile on her face. After a moment, she gave in and began to laugh, too. He reached out to her and she shuffled to his side. He pulled her into his lap and buried his face in her shoulder, still shaking with laughter.

"Okay, it's not that funny," she said. "Seriously, Luke. It's not that funny."

He wiped his eyes with his thumb and took a deep breath. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Making a pizza," she said, as though this were perfectly normal, as well as obvious.

"You're making a pizza?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Yes." She pushed herself off his lap and dusted her hands on the seat of her pants. "I just—I wanted to do this."

"You made dough?"

"I _bought_ dough," she said. "Still, I am assembling and baking it myself."

Luke shook his head again, smiling. He paused. "What are you listening to?"

Lorelai tipped her head to the side and listened a moment, squinting her eyes shut tightly as she tried to remember. "Oh. That's Merle. As in Haggard. 'Today, I Started Loving You Again.'"

"Merle Haggard," Luke repeated.

"Yes," she said. "Now, either sit down and have a beer and let me finish or go downstairs and come back when I'm done."

"You want help?" he asked, rising.

She put her hands on his shoulders and turned him to the stairs. "Go," she said.

He paused. "Just out of curiosity, how did the chair fall?"

"I was trying to get the spinach open," Lorelai said.

"Ah," Luke said. "And it's all clear to me now."

When he returned a short time later, Lorelai was once again leaning down to the oven, this time peering into the window. He hunched down beside her and asked what they were looking at.

"Is it done?" she asked. "I think it's done. Do you think it's done? I think it's done," she said, reaching for the oven mitts that rested beside the stove top. "Thank _God,_ because I am starving."

He took the mitts from her and eased the pizza out of the oven, onto the cool burners on the stove. "We should let it sit," he said. "It's too hot to eat."

She groaned. "Better be worth it," she muttered. "Not even any meat on it."

"Come sit with me a minute," he said, and took her to the sofa. They sat, and he put his arm around her. "So. Is this your way of apologizing for last night?"

She stared at him a moment, wide-eyed. "No, it is _not,"_ she said. "I planned this yesterday, thank you very much. And I don't have anything to apologize for, buster," she said. "But really, neither do you." He was silent. "The yelling, with me and my dad? That's just—after all these years, my whole life, that's just instinct. That's all I can say in my defense. As for him—"

"He's your dad," Luke said quietly.

Her mouth fell open. "He _is?_ My God, I'm just shocked. And here I am, writing letters to Richard Simmons—Daddy, why don't you love me? Daddy, why do you ignore me? Daddy, what's with the restraining order?"

"Come on, Lorelai. He's trying."

She shook her head. "It's not for the right reasons, Luke. It's not for me. It's not because he really wants it for himself, either. It's—it's for my mom. That's not good enough."

"Does it really matter?" he asked.

"It should," Lorelai said.

"You only get one chance with your parents, Lorelai," Luke said.

She looked at him, startled, her eyes wide. "He said something like that to me once, too." She covered his knee with her hand and squeezed. "I'm sorry, I know it probably sucks for me to complain about this stuff to you." He only shrugged. "He said to me, just a while ago, that at the end of your life everything is dust but family. He said he wanted to make an effort to change." She sighed. "Maybe that's what he thought he was doing last night, I don't know—it just—it just seemed like—like more of the same."

"More of the same what?"

"Just, you know, how it was growing up. Being stifled," she said. "You know, sometimes, since Rory started at Chilton, it seemed like—like we were all growing together, you know? And other times, it's like I'm still sixteen and they're still the same Richard and Emily they've always been and we just—we don't even speak the same language." They were silent a moment. "Can we eat, yet?"

He served them both at the table and was good enough not to hesitate before he cut into the pizza with a fork and tried it. He nodded approvingly. "It's pretty good," he said.

Lorelai raised her fork with great trepidation and took a tentative taste. "Pretty good?" she said, "it's damned fan-fucking-tastic, is what it is! I am a culinary _genius._"

He laughed. "Is that 'The Gambler?'" he asked, after a moment.

"There'll be time enough for counting, Luke, when the dealing's done," she replied, giggling. "I had Lane make up this CD for me—I've had that 'Suds in the Bucket' song in my head _forever_, driving me insane. I figure, if you're going to listen to country, listen to country that doesn't make you want to leap in front of the first moving vehicle you can find."

"A good policy," he agreed. "And you're listening to country music because…?"

Lorelai shrugged, and the song changed. Luke's face brightened. "I know this one. I like her. Sara Evans, right?" he asked.

She made a face. "Unfortunately. I have to say, I don't get why you like this chick. Annoying."

"I like the songs she sings. And she's, you know," he said.

"She's what?"

"You know," he said again.

"She's, what, cute?" Lorelai asked, narrowing her eyes. "I've been suffering 'Suds in the Bucket' because you think she's a hottie?"

Luke grinned and took a large bite of pizza. "This is good," he said again.

"You're a piece of something, all right, Luke Danes," Lorelai said.

Later, they sat companionably side-by-side on the sofa, drinking beer, listening to the CDs. Lorelai held the cold bottle to her cheek, her eyes closed, trying not to think about how uncomfortable sitting on a leather sofa in oppressive humidity really was. She swung her feet up onto Luke's lap and smiled sleepily at him. He squeezed her ankle.

"About yesterday," he began.

She wiggled her toes. "Doesn't matter," she said. "You're allowed to have an opinion."

"That's very generous of you."

"There's just—with my dad? You know, there's a—there's always more," she said. She tipped her head to one side, her expression thoughtful. "You're never just fighting about what you're fighting about. You have to understand that."

He nodded knowingly. "Families are—families are families," Luke said. "I get it."

Lorelai lifted her head to look at him. "Speaking of—what's up with Jess?"

"Jess is… doing his thing," Luke said slowly.

"Good."

"He's trying," he added.

"Good," she said again. She studied him a moment. "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"What was your mom like?"

The question didn't seem to surprise him. For a long moment, he said nothing. He sipped his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and took a deep breath. "She was—she was a lot like Rory, actually. Quiet, smart. But she was little, built like Liz. She was real frail," he said. He passed his hand over his face. "I always remember her, sitting in her chair, after dinner, just watching us—me, my dad, Liz. That's how I remember her, watching the family."

"How old were you when she passed?" Lorelai asked quietly.

"Eleven," he said. "She'd been in and out of the hospital as long as I can remember, since Liz was born—I guess there were, I don't know, complications during the birth. I don't remember, and my dad never told me. She was always… delicate. But when she died—" he stopped.

"It was sudden?" she supplied.

He nodded. "Pneumonia. She was fine, and then she wasn't."

"Oh, God. Luke, I'm—I'm so sorry," Lorelai said. "I just—I didn't know," she said. "I never asked."

"It's okay," he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hands.

"I guess, I don't know, that we've known each other so long, but I never met your parents, or anything—I guess sometimes I forget you had them," she said. "It's monumentally self-absorbed and insensitive, but I guess… I guess that's why I never thought to—"

"Lorelai, it's okay," he said again. "It was all a long time ago."

"We don't have to talk about it," she said.

"Okay."

"I mean, we've got plenty of time for those things, right?"

"Right."

"And it's not like—"

Luke sighed. "What do you want to know?"

Lorelai turned sideways, curled up into the back of the sofa, and looked up at him. "What was her favorite color?"

He brushed the hair off her forehead, his eyes sad. "Blue."

"Her favorite song?"

He squinched his face, trying to remember. "I don't—she used to sing 'Keep On the Sunny Side of Life' when we were kids."

Lorelai grinned. "Country music," she said. "That's nice."

"Anything else?"

She studied his face a moment. "Her name."

"Kate."

"Kate," she echoed, tipping her head to one side. "I like it." She closed her eyes. "Mmm. I like this song," she murmured. "Dwight. It's good. It's sad."

Luke put his beer aside and rose, extending a hand to Lorelai. "Would you?" he asked.

"I would," she replied, grasping his hand.

He slipped his arm about her waist and drew her close, taking her hand in his free one. She rested her other hand on his shoulder and fit herself easily against his side and they stepped to the music slowly, his cheek against her forehead. _Take a guess at where I stand; pick a number, one to two. Take a look at the back of your hand. Just like you know it, you know me, too._ Luke kept Lorelai's hand over his heart, closed his eyes as he held her to him. She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, breathed him in. _You think you left without any place left to go, like you need one of those kisses, long and slow. First glance is not what it seems, but there's some that things I just know, like you take two sugars with a splash of cream. You take a guess at where I stand and pick a number, one to two. Take a look at the back of your hand. Just like you know it, you know me, too._

Lorelai cleared her throat. "See? Dating—not so painful, right?"

"Doesn't suck," he admitted.

Lorelai raised one hand and lifted her hair off her neck. "It's too hot—I'm staying here," she said. "Not walking home."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," she said.

"How does this fit in with—"

"Are you going to ask me that every time I want to do something with you?" she said with a sigh. "Luke—I'm not trying to be difficult—" He laughed. "—or confusing, I swear. I just—I wanted to do something nice. Nice and normal." He laughed again. "Don't," she pouted. "_I'm_ trying."

"Thank you," Luke said. "I'm just trying to keep in step, here," he said.

"I want to stay. It's not too—let's just say there are a lot of ways to go slowly," she said, smirking.

He couldn't help smiling. "Noted."

A slow smile spread across Lorelai's face. "So. Tell me: what _are_ your intentions towards me, Mr. Danes? I feel I cannot proceed without being properly and fully informed. Do they pave the road to hell?"

Luke worked his jaw a moment, clearly uncomfortable. He paused, looked over his shoulder. "What the hell is this music?"

Lorelai jumped back and clapped her hands. "It's George Strait! It's 'Tell Me Something Bad About Tulsa!' It is, and I kid you not, the best and greatest lame song, quite possibly, ever." She adopted a serious pose and a solemn expression. She spoke slowly and deliberately. "Tell me something bad about Tulsa, Luke, how those old oil wells smell in the wind. Tell me something bad about Tulsa, so I won't have to go back believing I belong there again." She grinned. "Seriously, you couldn't have chosen a more amusing genre of music. I've got enough fodder for a lifetime with this stuff."

He smothered a smile, shaking his head. He took of his hat and flannel shirt, tossing them aside, and sat on the end of the bed. "Ah, geez. There's a reason some things should stay private." He glanced around. "It's fucking _hot_," he said.

Lorelai sat on his lap, straddling him, her hands on his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist. "Eh," she said. "It's not so bad." She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him, holding him tightly.

Luke leaned back, pulling Lorelai down with him, rolling them both over and pinning her beneath him. He returned and deepened the kiss, reaching up and releasing the band that tied up Lorelai's hair, tangling his hand in her hair. She shifted beneath him, tilting her head back into the kiss and pressing her hips up slightly against him, and clasped her hands behind his neck. She broke the kiss, breathless.

"Tell me," she said. "I want to know."

"My intention," he said, placing a kiss just behind her ear, on her neck, on the curve of her shoulder, "is to stick around."

She lifted her head and looked at him. "That's it? That's all you can muster?" she asked, scrunching her nose. "That's lame, Luke. I was hoping for something a little more, you know—"

"That's not all I can muster," he said.

Lorelai dissolved in giggles, wrapping her arms around him again. "Dirty, Luke," she said. "Campy and dirty."

"Well, it is a twin bed," he said.

She burst out laughing. "Who are you and what have you done with Luke?" she gasped. "The innuendo, it is killing me!"

Luke collapsed against her, burying his face in her neck as she shook with laughter. After a moment, he lifted his head. "Lorelai, would you please, please, shut up?"

She kissed him softly. "Because you said please." She held her hand to his face and studied him a long moment. "You know what song I like?"

He shook his head mutely.

"Alison Krauss. 'Let Me Touch You for a While.'"

He tried to keep his face composed. "That's very… suggestive," he said.

Lorelai smirked. "I know," she said. She hooked her leg over his hip and rolled them both onto their sides, and then Luke onto his back. She sat up, straddling him once more, her hands on the flat of his chest. "I know a way to make you smile. Just let me whisper things you've never heard before," she said, "just let me touch you, babe. Just let me touch you for a while." She paused, looking up, her expression puzzled. "I think that's how it goes."

Luke propped himself up on his elbows. "Hey," he said. "Thanks."

Lorelai looked at him. "For what?"

"Coming here."

She smiled. "I like being here," she said. "It's—it's new." She leaned forward and kissed him teasingly, shifting her weight slightly as she did. Immediately, his hands found their way to the base of her spine, hitching her shirt up over her middle. They fell back together, heedless now of the heat.

It was different than before, though not less passionate or intense. Lorelai still ached, slightly, overwhelmed by how much she could feel, how much he could make her feel and how much she could make him feel; but this time they made love less fraught, less desperate. There was a certainty without apprehension or tentativeness. As she moved above him, she was what she had always been when she was with him—playful, vocal, demanding, sweet—and he responded in kind, both tender and fierce. The intensity was different now, as though something between them had shifted. She knew he meant what he said, he wasn't going anywhere, and he wouldn't let her go either. It frightened her, but it was a welcome fear. She was almost ready for it. When she cried out, she was both joyful and triumphant. She tumbled to him, curled against his side, spent.

"Oh, that was nice," she murmured.

Luke put his arm around her and sighed. "Yeah," he said. He kissed the top of her head. "I told him I didn't know what my intentions were," he said, "but I'm—I'm here. And I'm staying."

Lorelai rested her chin on his shoulder and met his eyes. "Lucky me." She smiled and dropped a kiss on his chest, cuddling closer to him. "Luke?"

He shook his head. "Don't tell me you're hungry again." She was silent. "Geez, Lorelai."

"There's leftover pizza!" she said. "It's all of three feet away!" She pushed herself off the bed and looked over her shoulder at him, her hair falling around her face. "I'll be right back." She returned with a plate stacked high with the remaining slices and wiggled into bed beside him, her mouth already full. "So, tell me what the moisturizer in the bathroom's for."

He averted his eyes. "Nothing. It's not mine."

"Yes, it is," Lorelai said. "Do you have eczema or something gross like that?"

He wiped a spot of sauce off her chin. "No."

"Are you worried about your delicate complexion?" she asked, and began to laugh when she saw the look on his face. "Well, who would have thought it of Luke Danes, having a feminine side? Don't worry. Secret's safe with me." She reached for another slice and her face was suddenly serious. "You were right, you know."

"About?"

"There's a lot I don't know about you," she said, simply.

"We've got time," he told her, but his voice was thick with feeling.

She kissed his cheek. "And _I_ intend to make the most of it." She smiled. "Being a grown up doesn't always suck."

Luke looked at her levelly. "Your train of thought repeatedly jumps the tracks."

"My train of thought is a hover craft," she said. "Capable of hurtling from one spot to another. It's really quite impressive."

Luke put the plate on the floor beside the bed and put his arms around Lorelai, shushing her. They sat together, she pillowed against his chest, just listening to the still-playing CD, quiet a long time.


	27. Lost and Found

Lost and Found

Rory and Emily spent their first day in Florence cramming in as much sight-seeing as possible. They made all the obligatory stops: the Uffizi, the Duomo, the Accademia, Dante's house, and Ponte Vecchio among them. Even more than she had in Rome, standing in the Sistine Chapel and staring up at the _Creation of Adam_, Rory felt thrills up her spine as she approached the David, when she stood before Botticelli's _Birth of Venus_ and _Spring_. The art, the architecture—she felt it was returning the curiosity that had always kept her moving forward before. Her head felt slightly clearer every day; she felt less weighed down, and when she woke each morning she was aware of having slept better than the night before. As she and Emily walked the Ponte Vecchio, fanning themselves, she was embarrassed to think that the humid stickiness of the Italian summer was sweating out the confusion and self-pitying anger she'd taken with her when she boarded the plane to Europe—it felt so cliché. In spite of that, she just wished she could see the same change in her grandmother.

Emily went to bed immediately after dinner that evening, complaining of a slight headache. She seemed pale, drawn. Rory curled up in an armchair in her own room, the copy of _I Capture the Castle_ she picked up in London open on her knee. She read: "I write this sitting in the kitchen sink... I have found that sitting in a place where you have never sat before can be inspiring." Rory smiled—though the pages were stiff and new the words themselves were old friends of hers. She had not yet begun to tire of re-reading her favorites on this trip, but she looked forward to returning home and digging out her old booklist of "to read before I die" that each month grew exponentially, walking to the Stars Hollow book store and picking up a new paperback. As she ran her fingers over the print in the book, she was startled to find that going home was no longer exactly an inevitable but necessary evil. She fell asleep in her chair, the last words she could remember "THE CAT SAT ON THE MAT."

Emily knocked on Rory's door that morning and receiving no answer, let herself in. "Rory!" she cried. "What on earth are you doing? Did you sleep there all night?"

Rory lifted her head, inhaling slowly, blinking herself awake. "Grandma?" she said, and stuck her tongue out several times, making a face. "Did I swallow a cotton ball?" She sat forward and grabbed her neck. "Oh, geez," she groaned.

"Are you all right?" Emily asked, rushing to help her granddaughter out of her chair.

Rory nodded. "Just stiff. I must have—I was reading, I think I nodded off. What time is it?"

"Quarter to nine," Emily said. "I thought we'd get some breakfast downstairs, but it's a bit late now. We can stop at a café on our way to the marketplace. Why don't you go get ready?"

"Sure, Grandma," Rory said, sticking out her tongue again. "But is there a reason for the big hurry, hurry?"

Emily slipped her arm in Rory's and led her towards the bathroom, patting her hand. "We're going shopping," she said. "An early start allows us to make several passes and get the best deals."

"Grandma, are you—"

"Go on," Emily said, "a nice hot shower is just what you need after being in that chair all night."

Rory dressed in her lightest, coolest clothes and tied her hair back after her shower—a cool one, despite Emily's suggestion, because the air would be offensively hot today—and was rooting through her suitcase for sandals and a purse when Emily re-entered.

"There you are!" she said. "Shall we go?"

Rory raised her shoes triumphantly in her hand, declaring, "we shall!"

Emily allowed Rory to swallow a cup of espresso and bolt a croissant at a café across the street from the hotel before firmly placing her hand under her granddaughter's elbow and leading her into the early morning heat.

"I have a list, here, of things we should look out for," Emily said. "Florence has lovely leather products—do you think your mother would like a briefcase? I'm sure she has some tatty thing that she absolutely loves, but I think we can find something quite suitable for her here. I'd also like to get you a decent school bag, perhaps a wallet, and of course, a good pair of boots—"

"Grandma, I don't really need another pair of new boots," Rory said.

"Nonsense!" Emily said. "You can never have too many pairs of nice shoes."

Shopping in the market was an elaborate dance at which Emily was an expert. They made one slow revolution in their first target area, touching nothing, and another where they picked things up, considering them, but replaced them nonchalantly. At the third pass, they talked about the relative merits of this over that, what possible use a bag or a scarf or a filigree bracelet might have, but again, walked away, chatting idly. At this point, Emily insisted they stop and wait a while to return. They went to another café and stood at the bar, sipping espresso and sharing another pastry. Rory studied her grandmother, who still appeared pale and wan.

"Grandma? Are you okay? You seem sort of… quiet," she said.

Emily paused, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. "I'm fine," she said brusquely. "It's only the heat."

"If you're not feeling well, we can always go back to the hotel—I don't mind. I could use a nap myself," Rory said.

"Rory, we are in the middle of very delicate negotiations. There will be plenty of time for resting later. You needn't worry about me—you just tell me if you'd like to rest, we can stop for lunch early if we must," Emily replied, finishing her coffee and wiping her hands delicately on a napkin. "Shall we continue?"

An hour and a half later, Rory and Emily, laden with bags, met a bellboy from their hotel and put their new belongings on the back of his motor scooter, giving him a healthy tip to ensure that everything would indeed make it back to their room. Emily put her arm around Rory as they watched him ride away and they walked slowly away from the marketplace, searching for a place to lunch.

"Grandma, I don't speak Italian, but even I could tell that was some pretty fierce haggling. Nice job," Rory said. "And thanks so much—the wallet and the book bag, they're beautiful. And Mom's going to flip over that briefcase. It's amazing."

"It's not really a proper briefcase," Emily said with a sigh.

"That's why she'll love it. It's funky enough for Lorelai," Rory said.

They had a light lunch—Caprese salad and bruschetta—at a small restaurant on a narrow side street. The restaurant was cool and both women sipped their water, grateful for the respite from the humidity and heat of the market. Rory kept up a steady stream of talk as they waited for their food, talking of what was left to see, referencing the guide books she'd brought along, and finally returning to their purchases once more.

"I can't wait to see Mom's face when I show her those boots," Rory said. "I'm going to have to keep them under lock and key at the house."

Emily cut into a slice of tomato and mozzarella, spearing it with her fork. "Are you looking forward to going home?" she asked.

Rory shrugged. "I miss Mom, and I miss Lane. There are—there are things I'm not anxious to get back to, but I don't think I'm dreading it, or anything. I have been having a wonderful time, Grandma, really. It's been such a good trip."

"I was thinking, perhaps, of extending our stay. Another week?" Emily said, reaching for her water glass.

Rory's mouth fell open. "I—I don't know—Grandma, I still have—I mean, I'd _love_ to stay another week, spend more time with you, but there's a lot to do at home before I go to school, and I'm—I need to make sure I give myself enough time to get ready for the fall when I get back, and I haven't hung out with Mom at all since school ended or helped out at the Inn, and—there's just—I think I need to go back when we planned. Is that—is that okay?"

"Of course," Emily said, smiling as she laid her fork down. "I was just thinking out loud."

"Grandma," Rory said hesitantly, "don't you _want_ to go back?"

Emily motioned to the waiter to come over. "I don't know, Rory," she said. "_Vorrei una bottiglia di vino __rosa__. Grazie."_

"You don't know? Grandma—"

Emily sighed. "It's nothing, Rory, really. I'm just not sure what there is to go back to."

Rory felt tears sting her eyes. "There's everything, Grandma—there's me, and Mom, and your work, and Grandpa. He loves you, Grandma, he does."

She smiled sadly. "I know he does, Rory. But that's not always enough; I think you know that."

"But, Grandma—" she began again.

Emily accepted the jug of wine the waiter brought over and poured herself a glass. "I have spent this year realizing the many ways in which I am expendable, Rory." She took a sip of wine and lifted her eyes to look at her granddaughter. "It's quite an uncomfortable discovery to make, you know, the one that tells you you are irrelevant."

"Oh, Grandma," Rory whispered. "No. That's not true."

Emily covered Rory's hand with her own. "I think you probably know best—we should go home just as planned."

"And then?"

Emily picked up her fork again and helped herself to another slice of tomato. "And then, I suppose we'll have to see, won't we?"

Rory sat back in her chair, fighting tears for a moment. "Grandma—you're not irrelevant. Please don't think of yourself that way. I never do. I never would."

"Thank you, Rory. Now, come, eat up. We've still got quite a lot of shopping to do," Emily said.

Rory watched her grandmother, so composed, so cool, only a slight trace of pain behind her eyes, and wondered how much a person could hold back before her arms gave way and it all spilled down around her. As they left the restaurant, she slipped her hand in her grandmother's and gave her a kiss on the cheek, resting her head on Emily's shoulder a few seconds before they walked back into the oppressive sunshine of the Florentine streets.


	28. Two Steps Forward

Two Steps Forward…

_Dear Rory,_ Lorelai thought, as she walked home after work, _don't know about you, but my day just _sucked._ No calls for reservations, people checking out early, a small fire in the kitchen—no damage, but a fire is a fire—and I have no clean underwear left so I have to do laundry tonight, which I just don't want to do, because I hate laundry. I hate it. I hate this day. _

When she opened the door to the house, the phone was ringing. She dropped her bag by the door and picked up the portable before throwing herself face first onto the couch.

"House of Cheese, we deliver," she said.

"Mom?"

She sat up. "Rory! Hey, babe, how are you? I didn't know you were going to call—is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Rory said. "I just wanted to check in, say hi."

Lorelai stretched out on her back and toed off her shoes, pushing her feet into the squishy throw pillow at the end of the sofa. "Well, I'm glad you did. How are you, babe? You doing okay?"

"I'm doing okay," Rory replied. "Getting to see a lot, and just walk around and be here. It's great."

"Really? You're doing okay?" Lorelai asked.

"Honestly, Mom. I'm doing okay," Rory said. "What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm great," Lorelai said dismissively. "I'm great, the inn's great, Lane's great, Sookie and Jackson are great, everything's great. We just miss you."

"I didn't hear Luke's name on that list. Is he great, too?" Rory asked, her voice teasing.

Lorelai narrowed her eyes, smirking. "Yes, Rory, Luke is also great," she said.

"So…?"

"So, what? So we're, you know, doing the dating thing, seeing each other—it's good. It's—it's hard to describe," Lorelai said. "We're just… taking it a day at a time."

"But you're happy?"

She tilted her chin up, considering. "Yeah," she sighed, "I guess."

"Good. That's what I want."

"That's what I want for you, too, Rory. I just want you to be happy," Lorelai said.

"I know." She paused. "Mom? Have you talked to Grandpa lately?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes and groaned with frustration. "Yes," she grunted.

"That sounds good," Rory said.

Lorelai sat up and rolled off the couch, stalked towards the kitchen. "He's been doing this whole annoying involvement thing. He gave me this speech about trying and family, and he invited Luke over to dinner, which was a _disaster._ And now he's—he's retired, sort of, so he does his work in the morning at the house, and then he goes to the club, and then he goes back to the house, and he calls me. It's _great._ I _love_ it. We have five minutes of awkward conversation: he asks about the inn, I ask about insurance, we suffer through an uncomfortable silence, and then he says he should go and we hang up."

"Oh, my God," Rory said. "Every day?"

"No," Lorelai said, picking at container of leftover lo mein. "Not always. But more than before. I mean, if he called once every six months, it would be more than before, but you know what I mean."

"Wow."

"Yeah," Lorelai sighed. "How's your grandmother doing?"

"I'm worried about her, Mom," Rory said. "She's been really quiet. She's not acting like herself."

Lorelai toyed with a strand of lo mein on her fork. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. I just worry about what she's going to do when she gets back," Rory said. "It's going to be hard for her."

"Oh, man," Lorelai said. "Is she around? Should I talk to her?"

"She's sleeping," Rory said. "I'm all you get."

"And that's all I need. So," she said, shoving the leftovers away from her, "what's next on the itinerary for you two?"

"We're in Rome until the day after tomorrow, and then we're going to Venice for two days, and then we're back in Rome for another week and a half, and then we're home."

"Two weeks!" Lorelai said. "You'll be home in two weeks. Oh, babe, I can't wait to see you."

"Me neither, Mom."

"Say hi to Emily for me, okay?"

"I will. And to Lane and everyone from me," Rory replied. "And love to Luke," she said, her voice tentative.

"You got it, babe. I love you," Lorelai said.

"Love you, too, Mom. I'll call you before we fly out."

Lorelai smiled to herself as she hung up the phone. She sat for a moment in the kitchen, thinking, before she rose and tripped up the stairs to change. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled the door of Luke's open and slid into a chair at the table under the front window. She clicked her nails on the tabletop, humming to herself. She caught Kirk, sitting at a nearby table, staring at her once again.

"Oh, for the love of all that's holy, Kirk, just get it out of your system," she cried.

Kirk rose from his chair and came to kneel at Lorelai's elbow. "Lorelai, I believe that the man who would say such things about you deserves to be punished, and I, as a friend of the family, would like to offer my services as your champion, despite the fact that I have a girlfriend whom I love very much."

She smiled. "Kirk, that's very kind of you," she said gently, "but it's unnecessary. Jason moved to Houston, where I'm sure he is finding a whole new set of people to offend with his very existence."

"Distance is no problem," Kirk said. "I once worked as a flight attendant, I could pull some strings—"

Lorelai put her hand on Kirk's arm. "Kirk. I appreciate the thought, really, I do, but I'd just like to put the whole thing behind me. Besides," she added, sitting back in her chair, grinning broadly, "I'm sure Lulu would hate to have you go all the way to Houston."

"True," he said. He rose and turned back to his table. Just before seating himself again, he paused and looked to Lorelai again. "There is always the cargo hold, if I can't get the jump seat for at least one of us."

"Thank you, Kirk," she said, "but like I said, it's not necessary."

Luke appeared in the door to the kitchen, a coffee pot in his hand. He smiled as he strode over to her table. "Hey," he said. "When'd you get here?"

"Just," she said. "Guess what?"

He gave her a dark look. "I couldn't possibly."

"Well, _Rory_ called—"

"No, that's great! How's she doing?"

Lorelai took a breath and turned her face up to look at him, glowing with happiness. "Luke, she sounded so great—she sounded almost like herself. I think this trip has really done her good," she said. "I really do."

He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "That's good to hear," he said.

Lorelai reached up and put her hand on his, her eyes slightly tearful. "I can't tell you—I know she's still got a long way to go, but, man. Pod Rory may just be gone for good." She paused. "Now I have to worry about my mom a little bit—Rory said she's been really depressed. Nothing's ever easy, is it?"

Luke kept a reassuring pressure on her shoulder as he poured her a cup of coffee and told her he'd bring her something to eat. She stopped him just as he was about to disappear into the kitchen.

"She sends her love," she told him.

He looked away, working his jaw a little. "Back at her," he said gruffly.

Lorelai had her burger and fries, polished off a piece of pie, and rose to go. She called for Luke over the counter and asked if she would see him back at the house. He had a loose button on his collar that she played with as they talked.

"I'll be by in another hour or so—if she's home in two weeks, I've got my work cut out for me," he said. "And cut that out."

She pulled the button off in her hand and showed it to him. "I'll fix it," she said. "Okay, then, I'll see you later."

Then came the thirty second, awkward dance that always occurred when they parted in public, during which they leaned closer to each other but could not lock eyes. Lorelai always found herself staring at the cut of Luke's jaw, waiting for him to either seal the deal or turn his cheek, which he inevitably, always did. Without meeting his eyes, she couldn't see him waiting for the cue from her, for the twinkling, mischievous light that would give him permission. She shyly dropped a kiss on his cheek and waved over her shoulder as she left.

Since the night she stayed in his apartment, things had felt slightly less forced regarding the whens and whats of the time they spent together. There had been days Lorelai came home from the inn to find Luke already at the house, working in the garage on the shelving or the desk or the armoire, dinner waiting in the kitchen. Those days, they would eat together, talking idly about one thing or another, and Luke would return to the garage until it was too dark to work any longer. When he came in, they would sit together on the couch and watch TV or a movie, and when it grew late and Lorelai could see Luke's head dropping to his chest, she would lead him to the bedroom and they would make love and fall asleep together until Luke left in the early morning to open his diner. When Lorelai woke the coffeemaker would be ready to brew, waiting for her to push the power button. Then there had been other days, days when Lorelai came to the diner and stayed until after close, watched Luke clean, and went upstairs with him to mock him as he tried to watch baseball on his impossibly small television set, after which Lorelai would find reasons not to go home. There were other days, too, days when she would see him only over coffee in town in the morning, when she'd come home from work having eaten at the inn and he wouldn't be there, and he wouldn't come by, and they'd talk on the phone a few moments and watch TV or baseball alone and fall asleep in their own beds by themselves, the way they'd been doing for years.

Walking home, Lorelai had to admit that it wasn't the most exciting of relationships, but she was pretty sure she didn't care. She didn't regret having told him she needed to slow down, to figure out the way they would fit together, because she thought she could see, now. Things felt less weighty, less monumental this way, more comfortable, more the way they should. She wasn't sure quite how to phrase it, either—it wasn't quite dating, but it was more than just hanging out, and it was never boring, whatever it was. She was almost getting used to being overwhelmed, to the crush of feeling she had, the same way she had gotten used to the fluttering in her ribcage that started when he asked her to the movies the first time. They hadn't talked about the rules, yet; she still wasn't sure she knew what they were. She knew he wasn't quite content with the status quo, not quite—she felt as though he was waiting for something, but she didn't know exactly what. She hoped he could see she was doing her best, that she was trying.

She didn't hear Luke arrive; she'd been in the kitchen, willing her coffee pot to go faster. Once it had brewed enough for the present, she poured it over a heaping bowlful of ice cream and went to sit on the porch swing. She was enjoying herself immensely when she heard the yelling from the garage.

"Shit! Holy, holy, motherfucking goddamned shit!"

She put the bowl on the porch floor and jogged to the garage, where she found Luke, clutching his hand, stomping his foot, still swearing.

"Piss all damned hell fuck holy mother pile of shit!"

"Luke!" she cried. "What the hell? What's with the yelling and the swearing and—oh, my God, are you hurt?"

She rushed to his side and took his hand in both of hers. He bit his lips together a moment, composing himself. His eyes were bloodshot with pain.

"I hit my thumb with the hammer," he said shortly.

"Oh, my God," Lorelai said. "I thought you'd lost a finger. Come on into the house, we'll get some ice on that."

"Frigging stupid," he grumbled, following her in. "Haven't done that since—can't remember having ever done that. Can't believe—"

She sat him in a chair and filled a kitchen towel with ice, wrapping it around his rapidly swelling thumb. She sat beside him, holding the towel securely in place. He winced.

"You scared the shit out of me, you big baby," she said, pouting at him. "God. A simple 'ow, ow!' would have been enough."

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I just—motherfucker, it hurt."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Poor thing," she said. "Should we look at it?"

"Leave the ice on a little longer," he said. "I just—I want to make sure it's going to get done before she gets home, that's all."

Lorelai rested her chin on his shoulder. "You banged your thumb because you were hurrying for Rory? That's—Luke, that's so girly. I love that!"

He looked at her witheringly out of the corner of his eye. "I just want to make sure it's all done and done right."

"That's very sweet of you. But really, you shouldn't worry about it—if it's not done, it's not done, and—"

"It'll get done," Luke intoned.

"Not tonight, it won't," she replied, gingerly taking him by the arm and leading him into the living room. "Sit," she said. "You want a beer?"

"Nah," he said.

"One beer, coming up," she said. She ran out to the porch, grabbed her bowl of ice cream, and went back to the kitchen for a beer. She sat beside him on the couch, pulling his hand into her lap, wrapping the ice about his thumb more tightly. She reached for the remote and set the TV to skip channels while she shoveled ice cream into her mouth.

"What are you eating?"

She grinned around her full mouth. "Ice cream and coffee," she said joyfully. "Want some?"

He stared at her balefully. "You never cease to amaze me."

"I have a talent," she said. "Let's look."

Lorelai undid the towel and peered at Luke's thumb, making a face. It was slightly swollen and bright red, a half-moon shaped welt just below the nail. The nail itself was a strange mix of colors, not a healthy pink. She clucked sympathetically and looked up at him.

"It could be worse," she said.

"It will be," he replied.

"You think it's broken?"

He shrugged. "Too swollen to move it right now."

"Well, listen. You're staying here tonight, and first thing tomorrow, I'm taking you to the hospital to get an X-ray, just in case. No arguments," she said, raising her voice as he opened his mouth to speak. "Don't worry. I am an excellent caretaker. I stopped throwing up at seeing other people's vomit by the time Rory was three months old. She was a really up-chucky baby. Blood, not so much, but puke and bruises, I'm your gal."

"Thanks for the information," he said dryly.

She rose and took the towel from him. "I'm going to get more ice. And a bag to put the ice in, because the whole wet pants thing, aside from being totally worthy of a dirty, is not that attractive." She paused. "You want some ibuprofen?"

"No."

"Ah, and by no you mean yes. I've got the system down now," she said, grinning.

When she returned, he was stretched out on the couch, cradling his hand against his chest. She climbed over him and wiggled in under his arm, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She re-iced his hand and took the remote, stopping the TV on the first baseball game she could find before reaching back over Luke's head for a magazine.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Haven't got a fricking clue," she said. "I'd like to keep it that way. As far as I'm concerned, the only reason to watch baseball is to admire tight butts and broad shoulders. You watch, I'm going to read my magazine, and you tell me when there's a particularly delicious booty that I should pay homage to."

Luke kissed her forehead and held her tightly to him for a moment. He turned his head and focused on the TV a moment. "Ah, geez," he said.

"Note that I won't respond to anything that's not 'good butt,'" she said.

"Sure."

"As long as we understand each other."

He grinned. "I think we do."

Though he attempted to sneak out in the morning without waking her, Lorelai caught Luke in the kitchen, fully dressed, placing the filter in the coffeemaker. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him.

"You think you're going to get away that easy?" she asked.

He looked at her, surprised. "What are you doing up?"

She shrugged. "I always wake up when you go," she said simply, too embarrassed to meet his eye. "And then I remembered that today, you're not supposed to go. Let me see that hand, mister," she said, coming towards him.

He stepped back defensively. "It's fine," he said.

"Then you won't mind me taking a look," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Come on, Luke. Let me see."

With a sigh, he put out his hand. His thumb was still swollen and no longer red, but an impressive mottle of blue and purple. The half-moon indentation seemed deeper and his nail was now close to black. Lorelai kissed the joint at the base of his thumb, below the bruising, and looked up at him. "Give me five minutes, I'll get dressed, and we're going to get this taken care of," she said.

"Ah, geez, Lorelai, it's not broken," he said. "Look, I can wiggle it and everything," he said, making a pained face as he did so.

"Nice one, Caveman Joe, but regardless of how manly you want to be about this, I'd feel better if we just got it looked at. I don't want you going all toxic or being crippled for life because of something _I _asked you to do. I can live with a reasonable amount of guilt, you understand, but that might be overdoing it. Call Caesar, have him open without you. I'm going to get changed. Five minutes," she said. "Feel free to go on with the coffee."

Ten minutes later, they were on their way to the emergency room in Hartford, Luke grumbling in the passenger seat of Lorelai's Jeep. She had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the radio dial, constantly changing the station.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Lorelai, could you decide on a channel and leave it?" Luke cried.

She looked at him sidelong. "Someone's a little cranky when he has a boo boo," she said.

"I don't have a—a—I'm fine," he said.

Lorelai laughed. "It is my new goal in life to get Luke Danes to say the word 'boo boo.'"

He shook his head. "Keep dreaming."

Lorelai sat beside him as he dealt with the charge nurse, supplying most of the information as to what had happened, as Luke was less than forthcoming. She held his good hand as they sat in the waiting room a few moments, keeping up a constant stream of light chatter and a slight reassuring pressure on his hand as he stared resolutely at his shoes. It was still early yet and the waiting room contained only one other person, his hand wrapped in a rag that he kept opening to peer at his palm, only to groan before he closed it and then gagged. It was less than ten minutes before someone called Luke's name and Lorelai stood up with him, walked with him to where the nurse was waiting.

"You family?" she asked.

She nodded. "I'm his girlfriend," she said. "Can I stay with him?"

The nurse shrugged and led them to a curtained gurney, where they waited another few moments for the doctor. Luke sat and Lorelai continued her barrage of distracting comments, which included a short comedy routine involving tongue depressors. The doctor who came to see Luke was a young, nervous woman with big, dark framed glasses and curly hair she wore in a high knot on the top of her head. She spoke in a voice so quiet Lorelai found herself leaning in to listen. She told them she suspected a slight fracture—earning her an 'ah, geez,' from Luke—but she wanted an X-ray to be sure, and sent them both to radiology. They rode in the elevator with a middle aged woman in a wheelchair, an IV attached to her arm, and an orderly who hummed the theme of "The Muppet Show" for the three floor ride. Luke bit his lips together and stared at the elevator ceiling.

Lorelai put her hand flat on his chest. "Hey," she said. He didn't look at her. "_Hey_. How you doing? You okay? You want me to flash you, or anything?"

The orderly smirked over his shoulder at them as Luke shifted his weight on his feet and became, if possible, even more uncomfortable. "As much as I appreciate the thought," he said, "no, Lorelai. I'm fine."

"Okay," she said. "Well, the offer stands."

When they left the hospital later that morning, Luke's thumb was taped securely in a splint and he had in his pocket a prescription for ibuprofen. Lorelai dropped him off at the diner, not getting out of the Jeep. He had his hand on the door handle when she reached out and touched his cheek.

"Wait," she said. "How are you?"

He sighed. "Really, Lorelai, I'm fine. I am. Just tired," he said.

"Okay, then. Take it easy today. I realize telling you to take it easy is like telling the Pope to lay off blessing things, but—"

"Lorelai," he said, smiling faintly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm going to go to work."

"You going to come in for coffee?"

"Well, if you're going to _push_ me," she said, grinning.

After a quick breakfast and two cups of coffee swallowed unreasonably fast, Lorelai leaned over the counter to call that she was leaving. Luke came around to the end of the counter and stood with her for a moment, telling her he'd be by after the diner closed. He paused for a moment, put his hand on her waist, and pulled her close. She stumbled a bit as he drew her to him, her hands automatically and of their own accord flying up as though to ward him off. He kissed her briefly, lightly. When he pulled back, she blinked rapidly a few seconds, her eyes wide. She smiled uncertainly and straightened his collar, averting her eyes. She took a breath, looked up at him, and told him to have a good day before kissing his cheek and leaving for work.

She sat in the Jeep a few minutes, confused and trying to collect herself. _Dear Rory,_ she thought, _I don't know why that—I don't—what's the big deal, really? I mean, really, right? Right. No big deal. Good. Good. It's all good. Okay. I'm going to work. _She turned her key in the ignition and nearly jumped out of her skin, about to throw the car into drive, when she saw Miss Patty standing at her window.

"Lorelai, darling, good morning," she cooed. "Just caught that little display in there and thought I'd congratulate you."

"Congratulate me?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"For bringing Luke along so far," Patty said, as though this were obvious. "There's never been a woman in Stars Hollow that could make that man show any sort of affection like that in public. A shame, too—nothing makes a man more attractive than seeing him woo another woman."

Lorelai stifled a laugh. "Oh, well, thanks, Patty. I do my best," she said.

"Oh, you two," Patty said. "Don't hesitate. You're quite the handsome couple."

"Thanks again, Patty, but I've got to go, I'm late for work," she said, stepping on the gas a little. She waved good bye and drove down Main Street, shaking her head.

Lorelai drove home first to change for work. As she confronted the clothes in her closet, which all seemed drab and awful this morning, she told herself she was being silly and small. She could offer to flash him in front of strangers, but kissing him in front of her friends seemed awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe she hadn't been expecting it, but should it have mattered? she asked herself. She sighed. Winky had told her to figure herself out, but she wondered how possible that was. As she settled on a skirt and light blouse, she shrugged and told herself it didn't matter—she was so close, she was almost there, she could almost see it, every day, getting easier, getting better. _A glitch,_ she thought, _it's just a teeny, tiny, weeny, little glitch._

"Glitches suck," she said aloud. She hung her head, sat, and put her elbows on her knees. After a moment, she reached out for the small pink journal on her bedside table, the journal that had seen so few scribblings in the last month.

_Dear Rory,_ she wrote, _if I could just be a sure of myself as I am of him, as he is of me. That's all I'm asking for. Tell me I can do it, babe. I need someone else to tell me I can do it. Because I think I can, I'm just—see? I'm not sure. Everything is so good right now, and I'm so close—I'm so close._

She threw her pen down with a sigh and finished getting ready for work. As she left the house, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand, she set her shoulders back and lifted her chin, wishing she felt as certain as she looked. For all the almost she'd been feeling lately, she knew that almost wasn't the same as certain.


	29. Made of Glass

Made of Glass

Rory knew from the moment they arrived at their hotel that she could add Venice to the list of cities that Emily hated. Her mouth was tied up in a prim line and her tone with the bell boy was on the nasty side of sharp. Rory couldn't quite blame her grandmother—it was sweltering hot and somehow stuffy even outside. She sank onto her bed in the hotel room, breathing in the manufactured smell of the air conditioning, grateful for the opportunity to stretch out after having been on the train for so many hours at a time. They would stay the night, the next two days, and leave on the eve of the second day.

Emily made an attempt to seem interested in Rory's agenda for the following day, nodding her head as she sipped her water at dinner, a strained smile on her face. Rory suggested the Patty Guggenheim collection, the Accademia de Bella Arte, the Duchal Palace and St. Mark's Square, but she trailed off when she realized it was an enormous amount to do in a short time and her grandmother was less than enthusiastic.

"Or, you know, we could just go to St. Mark's and walk around, go to some clunky little shops, hang over the Ponte Rialto—maybe go out to Murano, look at the glass stores? What do you think?" Rory asked.

Emily nodded. "Whatever you would like to do, Rory. I have no plans."

"Okay, Grandma," Rory said, her voice quiet.

_Dear Mom,_ Rory wrote that night, _it's like things are going backwards. When we left, Grandma was the one taking care of me—even when she was having a hard time, like in __London__, she was still worried about me and how I was doing. But now? I'm the one who's trying to get her to eat just another bite and asking how she's sleeping every morning. I know it's a big request, but when we get back and I go to Yale again, you're going to have to check up on her. I'm just worried for her. _

_I keep thinking about what's going to be different when I get back. I keep coming back to the same thing: nothing will be different, but everything will be different. Nothing's changed, I know that—Stars Hollow is still Stars Hollow, and there's Lane and Miss Patty and Sookie and __Jackson__ and Morey and Babette and you and Luke, and even __Paris__ and Tana and __Chester__ Fleet back at Yale. And it'll all be the same, mostly, but it also won't be the same—it can't be. I can't let it, because that's how this whole thing started. I just know it will be different because it has to be. It just does._

They spent the first day walking around the Duchal Palace and St. Mark's Square, peeking into the small shops that lined the square. They went to the Ponte Rialto and then wandered the tiny back streets of the city, looking at cheap glass beaded necklaces. After lunch, Emily asked if Rory would be upset if she just went back to the hotel to rest. Rory went by herself to the Accademia and took the self-guided tour with the audio headphones, giggling at some of the commentary. She took a water bus to the hotel as the sun set, hugging herself. The skyline of the city was beautiful, and even the murky water, reflecting the falling dusk, took on a mysterious sheen. Rory was selfishly glad, as she leaned out over her seat and peered at the buildings she passed, she had the moment all to herself: the breeze on her neck, the chatter of her fellow tourists, the smell of heat and water and oil, all of it was a moment she wanted to bottle and store on a shelf so that she might open it and relive it again whenever she chose.

Late the next morning, they took a water taxi to the island of Murano, one of the glassworks centers of Venice. The shops there had better wares than those in the main part of the city, and Rory found Emily brightening up as she examined plates, clocks, necklaces, and figurines with genuine interest. It was in one of the last shops that Rory found what she was looking for.

"Grandma, look," she said, waving Emily over. She pointed to a small chess set made of clear and colored glass. "This is the nicest one I've seen all day. It's perfect."

"What for?" Emily asked. "Your grandfather?"

"No, actually, I want to get it for Luke," Rory replied. "The last time we—I mean, when Mom and I went to Europe, we looked everywhere for a present for Luke, but we never found anything that we liked enough for him." She leaned in close to the display case, examining the set more as best she could. "I thought of this a while ago—it just seems like something he'd like, even if he never used it. And this one is just the right size, and the colors are right—it's perfect," she said again.

"You think so?" Emily asked, leaning in as well. "It is quite detailed. I do like the color—a nice deep blue, almost purple. It's not quite manly, though, is it?"

Rory grinned. "It's navy! It's very Luke. I'm going to have them wrap it up for me," she said.

As she did, Emily perused the display cases some more. When Rory returned, a box clutched tightly to her chest, she found Emily staring at a figurine of a man seated in an armchair, smoking a pipe, reading a newspaper. Rory grinned.

"It's Grandpa," she said quietly. "It's really neat."

Emily looked up, tears in her eyes. "I agree," she said. "I also like this one," she said, pointing to another. It was smaller, a girl in a long flowing dress, with the glass blown so exactly it seemed to move with her as she twirled, her arms in a perfect fifth position over her head, curved gracefully. Her hair whirled out behind her, an inky black. "It reminds me of your mother," Emily said. "What do you think? Shall I take them?"

Rory nodded and waited by the door as Emily had her purchases wrapped and boxed. As they walked back towards the docking area where they would catch their taxi back, Rory struggled with the question she wanted to ask. After several moments of internal debating, she spoke.

"Grandma? The present for Grandpa—does that mean that you're—I don't know, that you're thinking about going back?" Rory asked, her voice hopeful.

"I don't know, Rory," Emily said, after some hesitation. "It just seemed so natural to want to get something for him, something that he would appreciate. There's a lot to consider, to think about. Your grandfather and I—we have such a long history." She sighed heavily.

"Grandma, can I tell you something?" Rory asked tentatively.

"Of course—you know you never need to ask," Emily replied.

Rory took a deep breath. "You remember the night that my other grandparents—Dad's parents—the Haydens—came over to your house? I do—I was so excited and nervous, and I wanted to know them, I wanted to get to know them. Having you and Grandpa in my life has been so, so wonderful, and it was exciting to think about having this whole other family to be a part of. And it was—after I met them? I knew they didn't want me as part of their family, and I knew they didn't care about me, and they probably even blamed me, a little, for Dad not going to college and a lot of other things. I felt sorry for them, after a while, because it seemed like they didn't know how to be a family, you know? They didn't know how to talk to each other or be around each other, and—I mean, I know we're not perfect, and a lot of the time there's one or another of us that's not getting along with another, but—but we always come back. We always come back." She paused. "Grandma, I've been thinking a lot on this trip about who I am and who I want to be, and I just keep coming back to the same thought: I'm Rory Gilmore. That's who I am. I'm my mother's daughter, and I'm a Gilmore, and I'm me." She slid her hand in Emily's and squeezed. "I've always been really glad that I wasn't Rory Hayden, or even Rory Gilmore-Hayden, or Rory Hayden-Gilmore, and not just because I share my name with Mom and that's really special, even though it is, but because I'm a _Gilmore._ We're a family, we are, not just a name or reputation or a facade. I'm a part of this family, and I'm really proud of that. And I know you are, too, no matter what." The two women stopped and looked out over the canal as they waited for the taxi to arrive. "I just wanted you to know that."

Emily released Rory's hand and patted her hair, reassuring herself that it was in place, as it should be. She held the box with the glass figurines in front of her with both hands, staring out over the water, her face pale, her eyes watery. "Thank you, Rory," she said, her voice close to breaking. "Thank you."

"Sure, Grandma," Rory said, standing close at Emily's elbow. She put her arm around her grandmother's waist and rested her head on Emily's shoulder, a gesture that was becoming more and more frequent during the trip.

The train ride back to Rome was another silent one, but Rory watched Emily: her face was quiet, contemplative, and—as Lorelai would say, Rory, thought, Emily was still Emily—composed.


	30. Insecure Security

Insecure Security

Lorelai entered the kitchen of the Dragonfly to find Michel and Sookie in a heated argument. She watched them face off as she helped herself to a cup of coffee, listening with a faint smile on his face.

"Do I go out there and hit buttons on your computer?" Sookie demanded.

"You wouldn't dare," Michel hissed. "That computer is—"

"I don't touch your computer, Michel, so don't come in here and touch my stove," Sookie said. "No touching the stove. The stove is off limits. That's the stove," she told him, pointing, "and you can't touch it."

Michel stared at her as she spoke, his expression somewhere between pissed and bored. He rolled his eyes. "Are you finished now?"

Sookie took a breath and gave him a filthy look. "Don't touch the stove!" she cried. "Now, get out of my kitchen."

"But I haven't eaten yet," he whined.

Lorelai sat at a stool by the center counter. "Michel, why were you touching the stove?" she asked, her voice carefully curious, but neutral.

"I was simply trying to roast a tomato," he said. He looked at Lorelai and recoiled slightly. "You are the grim specter of death. Today, you will frighten people away from this place. Stay away from my desk," he told her.

Her mouth fell open slightly and she turned to Sookie. "Can you translate? Usually I can decipher the accent, but today it's the _words_ that are throwing me off," she said.

"I am still standing right here," Michel said.

Sookie put her hand on Lorelai's arm. "Are you feeling okay, sweetie? You look awful, just exhausted."

Lorelai sighed, slumping forward over the countertop. "I know!" she wailed, her voice muffled. She raised her head wearily and looked at them both. "Luke and I have been up all night, every night this week, trying to get everything done for Rory's room. Wait, why were you roasting a tomato?"

"For my breakfast," Michel said. "But having seen you, I have lost my appetite."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Then you should go keep the phone company," she told him. With this, he stalked out. Lorelai looked up at Sookie. "Am I really the grim specter of death?" she asked.

Sookie took her coffee cup and topped it off for her. "Oh, don't pay attention to him. You just look a little tired. Have you eaten? I'll make you some breakfast."

Lorelai groaned. "Don't bother—I'm so tired, I'm not even hungry."

"What exactly have you and Luke been doing?"

She sighed and ran her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "Just, you know, measuring and cutting and drilling and nailing, and that sentence suddenly became very not what I intended it to be." She rubbed her eyes. "He's so bent on getting 'everything done.' That's what he keeps saying, and I'm all, Luke, you're crazy, and he's all, I just want to get everything done, and I'm all, well, you're still crazy, and he's all, I've got to get everything done—it is a vicious cycle."

Sookie put a plate of toast in front of Lorelai and pointed. "At least eat that, it'll make me feel better. And Rory won't care if it's not completely finished. As long as her mattress isn't just sitting on the floor," she said, beginning to giggle, "or drop cloths covering all her books, and nails everywhere, lumber just leaning against the wall."

"Sookie," Lorelai said wearily, "I beg you, please stop."

She composed herself after one final, shrill giggle. "Sorry. You were saying, Luke's crazy, Rory wouldn't mind if it's not one hundred percent, continue."

"You're right: she wouldn't mind. It's the thought. And you know that, and I know that, but not even Rory herself, standing in front of him, waving a giant sign that says 'I don't care' could convince Luke of that. And he's been working so hard, and his thumb is still in the splint, so I'm trying to help him and—well, that's just ugly," she said, nodding emphatically. "We're up until all hours of the night and there's lots of pointing and grunting and 'don't touch that' and I'm about ready to hide the toolbox and put an end to the whole affair." She paused. "Wow. That was all kinds of dirty." She covered her eyes with her hands. "My brain hurts," she whimpered.

Sookie patted her arm, clucking sympathetically. "Why is it that when men try to do something sweet, they end up being backwards about it?"

"You thinking about Jackson with the baby monitor?"

"Exactly!" Sookie cried, pointing. "It's crazy!"

"I know, but try to tell them that," Lorelai said. "He means well, and he's probably just nervous about Rory coming home while we're dating, so he's doing carpentry to distract himself as some weird, manly displacement activity. But for the love of all things holy, if I could just get him to _slow down._ I can't say that, though, because it's a loaded term at the moment, and I don't want to add tension to tension. Because you add tension to tension and you get—"

"Jerry Springer," Sookie supplied.

"The mayor himself," Lorelai agreed. She poked the toast Sookie had given her with her index finger, wrinkling her nose. "And where is everyone? Shouldn't breakfast prep start right around twenty minutes ago?"

Sookie waved her hand dismissively. "It's all under control. We've got five minutes."

Lorelai wrinkled her brow, confused. "What time is it?"

"Quarter of eight," Sookie said cheerfully.

"What? It's—that's—that's too early! How did I not know this?" She stopped. "Did I even _look_ at my clock when I got out of bed this morning?"

"You really are tired," Sookie said. "Promise me you won't do anything tonight, you'll just crash and rest and sleep."

"Believe me, sister, that is a promise I can keep!" Lorelai said. "Okay, I was lying before, and now I kinda want real food."

Sookie smiled and began bustling around the kitchen. "I should get started anyway. How's French toast? Double dipped, nice and crispy, little powdered sugar…"

"You talked me into it," she said, and gulped the dregs of her coffee.

Lorelai rose and walked to the coffeemaker, helping herself to another full cup. She leaned back against the counter as she drank, wishing caffeine's rejuvenating powers were equally as effective on the dull ache she'd developed at the base of her neck while helping Luke. _Dear Rory,_ she thought, _Sookie's a good friend for lying to me, but I think I really do look like a cast member of the "Thriller" video. Death probably stopped for me this morning and I didn't even notice. I'm so pale, I even feel pale. And the bags under my eyes would so have to be checked for air travel. _She giggled at this, and Sookie looked up from what she was doing. Members of the kitchen crew had begun to trickle in while Lorelai was lost in her reverie.

"What's funny?" Sookie asked.

"Ah, nothing, just thinking," she replied.

Sookie began handing tasks off to her workers and wiped her hands on her apron. "So, if you don't mind my asking—"

"I hardly ever do," Lorelai said.

"—how are things going with Luke, otherwise?" she asked.

Lorelai smiled faintly. "I think things are good. Most of the time, things are good."

"And the rest of the time?"

She stared into her coffee cup, her chin to her chest. "The rest of the time I'm still three seconds away from freaking out."

Sookie closed her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, Lorelai."

"What?" she asked, her voice shrill. "What are you oh, Lorelai-ing me for?"

Sookie took up a knife and began deftly slicing strawberries, her movements so quick and agile Lorelai found herself slightly dazed, mesmerized by the action of the knife. "You know," Sookie said, "you've got a great head for business, you're one of the most confident people I know in a lot of ways, but you aren't giving yourself enough credit." She paused and pointed the knife at Lorelai. "You can do this. You can. Being three seconds away from freaking out is a security blanket, and—"

Lorelai shook her head, unsure of what she'd just heard. "Wait, stop and explain to me how _freaking out_ can be considered a security blanket."

Her friend looked at her sidelong. "Don't take this the wrong way—remember, you know this: freaking out is what you do. Without that, all you've got is the relationship, which you've got to work at, and that in itself is scary enough. Feeling like you're about to freak out lets you out of all the hard stuff, Lorelai," Sookie said, her voice on the edge of pleading as she explained. "And all the good stuff, too. Just let it go. Because everything else you can handle together—you can deal with the tough things with Luke. That's a partnership. This fear of freaking out? That's just keeping you separate. Let it go, Lorelai," she said again.

Lorelai was silent a long moment, biting back the swell of anger that automatically, instinctively rose within her. She cradled her coffee cup to her chest, her expression sulky. "What if I don't know how?" she asked, at length.

Sookie looked at her levelly. "Then you're stuck, and you're never going to move forward."

Lorelai put the coffee cup down and hugged herself. She felt weighed down by more than her own weariness, as though Sookie's words were sitting on her shoulders, a yoke that bit into her skin. "Thanks, Sookie. I better get to work. Lots to do," she said vaguely.

"Lorelai, honey, I'm just trying to help," she replied. "Really, it wasn't meant as a criticism—I just—I want you to be happy."

Lorelai's smile was sad. "I know. And that's why you're my best friend."

"And you're mine," Sookie told her. "You still want some breakfast?"

"Nah," Lorelai said. "Maybe later?" She pointed at the door. "I'll be out there."

"And I'll be here!" Sookie said, smiling. "Lorelai? If it helps? You can do it—Luke wouldn't be around if he didn't know that."

Lorelai nodded and waved. She went straight to her office, threw herself in her chair, and laid her cheek on her desk. She closed her eyes. After a moment, she took a breath, sat up, and squared her shoulders. She smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, using the hair tie she'd looped around her wrist while getting ready for work. _A little sleepiness never killed anyone,_ she thought, _get over it, get to work, and get a grip. _She rose and went about doing her job, spending her day squabbling with Michel, talking on the phone to contractors about meetings for estimates for Winky's house, chatting with guests, and drinking cup after cup of coffee. At four o'clock, she said goodbye to Sookie, giving her a hug before she went.

"Remember," Sookie said, "rest. Sleep."

"Sleep? What is this thing of which you speak?" Lorelai replied, but she nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She drove home, thinking only of a cool shower, cool sheets, and getting off her feet. She was confused to find her front door unlocked, sighing when she let herself in and heard voices coming from the back of the house. She tramped down the hall. What she saw caused her to lean against Rory's doorframe for support. There, in Rory's room, bellowing at each other, were Luke, Kirk, and her father.

Luke was on one side of the ladder, an electric drill in his hand. Kirk balanced precariously on the other, holding up the opposite end of the shelf Luke was in the process of hanging on the wall. Richard stood a few feet away from them, gesturing with his hands.

"I am telling you, man, you must move it to the left," he said.

"I made the measurements myself," Luke said. "I've got them marked on the wall. Trust me, this is where it has to go." Lorelai could hear the irritation in his voice, hard as he was trying to hold it back.

"I don't know how much longer I can hold this up," Kirk said.

"To the left," Richard said.

"This is where it needs to go," Luke replied.

"I think it would be better if you just hung it sideways," Lorelai said from her place in the doorway.

They all swiveled to look at her, looking caught. Luke gave her a pained smile and her father patted himself absently on the chest, as though he were about to search his jacket pockets for the best-phrased explanation. Kirk's expression was typically flat as he said, "Big Daddy over here paid me thirty bucks."

"Lorelai," Richard said. "How nice to see you. I was just—"

"He came by the diner," Luke said abruptly. "Looking for you."

She nodded, her eyes narrowed. "Sure. And you just ended up here, all together."

"Well, we got to talking," Luke said. Lorelai stood up straight at this.

"Luke told me about your project," Richard continued. "And with his evident injury, I thought perhaps I could be of service."

"And I never turn down money," Kirk said.

Luke gestured broadly with his hands. "I just thought, this was the biggest part, a little help…"

She crossed her arms over her chest, grinning. "Guys, guys, I'm not mad, I'm just—well, saying I'm surprised to see you all together is an understatement. You are a motley crew that puts Tommy Lee to shame. Keep going: if I don't have to do it, so much the better. I," she said, turning, "am going to hie me to the living room and get out of the way."

Forty-five minutes later, Lorelai was engrossed in a rerun of _Inside the Actor's Studio_ on Bravo with Kate Winslet, eating licorice she'd discovered in her purse. Kirk sauntered down the hallway, hitching his pants up. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Yep, we're all done in there," he told her. "Big Daddy and I, we got those shelves up in no time."

Lorelai folded her arms on the back of the couch and looked up at him. "Kirk, you know I was just joking about that nickname."

He hesitated. "Of course. I just find that a nickname engenders—"

"Don't say engenders, Kirk," Luke said, coming to stand at the end of the hall.

"Right. Okay. I guess I'll be going now," Kirk said. "Unless, of course, you need further assistance—"

"I'm all set, Kirk," Luke said. "But thanks. Really appreciate your helping out today."

"Well," he said, abashed, "it is for Rory."

Lorelai smirked at Luke as the door closed behind Kirk. "Dear Diary," she said, her voice high, "today, Luke told me he really appreciated my helping him out. I think he's finally noticed me. This is the best day of my life!"

"Very funny," he drawled. He braced his hands on the back of the sofa and leaned over Lorelai. "Sorry to spring that on you. I thought we'd be done by the time you got home, and you'd come in and it would all be finished, and—"

"Luke," she said, putting her hand on his. "I so don't care. I'm too tired to care. It's nice that you had people to help you who weren't threatening to use your own tools against you." She looked over his shoulder. "Uh, where's my dad?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "He's in Rory's room, inspecting the alignment."

And with that, he entered the room, scratching his head. "It's the darndest thing," he said, "but I do believe you were correct."

"Measure twice, act once," Lorelai intoned. "That's the mantra, Dad. No mistakes can _ever_ be made if one measures twice."

He looked at her blankly a moment. "Yes, well. Luke," he said, extending his hand, "a pleasure working with you this afternoon. I must say I admire your craftsmanship. Those are some quite fine bookshelves, and the headboard is impressive as well."

Lorelai had to bite back a giggle, seeing Luke blush as he thanked her father. "So, Dad," she said, "you were looking for me today?"

"Yes. I thought perhaps we might try another dinner together at the house," he said. "I believe that if you and I can reach an accord here and now and swear to be on our best behavior, it might go quite well this time."

"Are we rehearsing for a performance or eating a meal?" Lorelai asked.

"Lorelai," her father said, his tone a warning.

She sighed and looked up at him, her face petulant. Luke hung back, dragging his toe across the floorboards behind the couch. "I don't know if it's such a good idea, Dad," she said.

"Oh, nonsense, Lorelai. I think for an evening we can converse civilly, leave the past in the past, and enjoy a fine meal together. We have done it before."

Lorelai struggled not to make a face as she muttered, "for the most part." She could feel Luke watching her, and somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Rory telling her it was the right, nice thing to do. _And when, I'd like to know, did my life cease to be my own?_ she thought. "Fine, Dad. Whatever. I'm free tomorrow."

"Excellent," Richard said, smiling. "Luke, you must come as well."

"Ah, I don't know," he said, his head snapping up. "I—ah, well, you know—I—" He sighed. "Thanks. I'll be there."

"Splendid!" Richard cried, clapping his hands once and rubbing his palms together. "And now I take my leave of you. I shall see you tomorrow at seven."

"Indeed you shall," Lorelai said with affected pomposity, giggling slightly. She looked apologetically at Luke as her father made his way out. "It can't be as bad as last time," she told him. She rose and crossed to the other side of the sofa, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Hi," she said.

"Hi." He smiled. They stood, leaning against each other a moment, sharing a sympathetic silence. He took her hand and led her down the hall. "Tell me what you think," he said. They stood in Rory's doorway, surveying the walls.

"They look amazing," Lorelai told him. She looked at him, her face alight with a smile.

The shelves were thick planks of oak, two and a half feet each, with curved stops at either end, serving as bookends. Luke had carved the bookends himself to match the curved top of the headboard he'd almost finished. He had bracketed the shelves to the wall in vertical rows of three going across the room, so that each wall had several groups of shelving, like free-floating bookcases. He'd left space for the headboard, the armoire, and the desk he planned on building against the wall in the same manner as the shelves. He'd left the wood its natural color, sealing it with polyurethane. Lorelai thought there might be enough room there for at least the majority of Rory's books, if not all.

"She's going to love it," she said. "Really, Luke. It's perfect."

Luke shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.

"How's your hand?"

He held it up to show her. "It feels fine."

"It looks gross," she said.

"That means it's healing."

Lorelai tipped her head back and stared at the empty shelves, the newly painted walls so far devoid of decoration. The bare room suddenly depressed her, and she pushed herself closer to Luke, wrapping her arms around him. She wrinkled her nose. "No offense, Luke, but you stink," she said.

"It was hot. There was heavy lifting. I'm a man. I sweat," Luke said.

"C'mon," she said. "I'm feeling less than fresh myself. We'll shower, we'll eat, we'll—let's do something. Anything." She pulled his arms around her waist, twining her own about his neck and resting her forehead against his. "We need to get out of this _house,"_ she said. "We're simultaneously going to turn into Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_ and you'll be taking an axe to the door and I'll be hallucinating women in the kitchen, and we'll both end up dead. Which would be a shame," she added.

He exhaled a little, giving her a rueful smile. "Yes, being dead would be a shame, Lorelai," he said wearily.

"Well, we're practically halfway there," she said. "You know, I love you for doing this and working so hard—it's above and beyond all the way, I mean it. Thank you." She kissed him, pulling him tightly against her. She broke the kiss after a long moment and looked at him. She put a hand to his cheek and held his eyes with her own a long moment. "But. We both look like shit. We're tired, we're cranky, we're not having any fun doing this anymore. And yes, it's for Rory and it's important and I want to do this for her, but holy Jane Austen, Luke, we have to give ourselves a break."

He kissed her lightly and took her by the hand, leading her upstairs. "Right," he said. "Shower first."

She grinned, hanging on his arm as they went up the stairs. "Oh, I just love it when you get all take-charge."

When they reached the bathroom, however, an awkward silence fell between them. Luke stood by the door, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the tile. Lorelai tied her hair in a high, messy knot, and leaned behind the shower curtain to turn on the taps. She turned back to Luke and looked at his left shoulder, chewing her lower lip.

"It suddenly occurs to me that even though you've seen me naked and I've seen you naked, we've only ever seen each other naked when engaged in, shall we say, another activity." Luke said nothing and slightly nodded his head. "So this is a little weird, huh?" she said. "And fairly ridiculous, too. I mean, what are we going to do, just strip down to our birthday suits right in front of each other like we're two five-year-olds playing 'show me yours and I'll show you mine?'"

He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. "You're not really helping the situation, here," he said.

She stood, her hands on her hips, and shook her head vehemently. "Okay, this is friggin' ridiculous. Come here," she said.

"What?"

"Come. Here," she said, reaching out and grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging him into a fierce kiss. After a moment, she pulled back and caught her breath, pushing his flannel shirt off his shoulders. "Okay, we're just gonna—I'll do you," she said, punctuating her words with a kiss, "and you do me."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Dirty," he said.

Lorelai laughed. "Baby's first dirty!" she cried. "Such a gimme, though." She put her hand on the back of his neck and drew him into another kiss, working his shirt up over his middle with her free hand. After a moment of creeping her hand slowly up his chest, he broke from her and pulled the tee shirt off himself, knocking his baseball hat off in the process. "Good thing the toilet lid was down," she giggled, but was silenced immediately as he kissed her again, his hands searching for the zip on her skirt, sliding it down slowly once he discovered it. The skirt puddled around her feet and she stepped forward into him, kicking it aside. He pulled back and she stumbled slightly. "What?" she said breathlessly.

"I just—your shirt, I—" he stuttered, tipping his head to the side, studying her, his expression puzzled.

"Oh, it ties in the back," she said, reaching back to undo the knot. He took her wrists firmly in his hands and held them against his chest as he kissed the tender spot behind her ear. She turned her head away from him, closing her eyes, letting him trail kisses down her neck as he untied the knot. She cradled his head in her hands, holding her breath slightly. He ran his hands down her arms, pushing her shirt off as he did. She reached for his belt buckle and her eyes flew open. "Luke," she said, surprised to find her voice slightly hoarse. He pulled back, confused. "Your shoes," she said, pointing.

He toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks. He stood before her, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. For a moment, he only looked at her. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he told her.

Lorelai blushed. "I bet you say that to all the girls you shower with," she told him.

"Just you," he said.

She helped him out of his jeans. He ran his hands down her spine, reached down and, placing his hands firmly on the back of her thighs, lifted her up. She swung her legs out and around him, locking her feet behind his back, balancing her weight carefully on his middle. She looked at him. "I like kissing you from up here," she said. He inched them both towards the shower, she reaching back to draw the curtain aside. "Wait," she said.

Luke tipped his head back slightly to meet her eyes. "What?"

"We're still—with the boxers and the undies and the bra, and—" she stopped as he lifted his hand and easily unhooked her bra. She narrowed her eyes. "You're very adept at that," she said, smirking.

"And you really want to talk about that now?" he said.

"Uh-uh," she said.

Once in the shower, under the water, they suddenly became awkward and stiff again, wary of looking at each other. The space was cramped and the floor of the tub slick. After a few moments of uncomfortable negotiation for room, for water, for footing, Lorelai groaned and leaned her forehead into Luke's shoulder, frustrated. He put his arms around her, squeezed the back of her neck reassuringly. They stood under the falling water a few moments, holding each other. Lorelai pushed away from him slightly and reached for one of the several bottles of body wash that were crammed in the caddy hanging from the shower head.

"This does not have to be a complete loss," she said, taking her loofah in hand and liberally covering it with soap. "Turn around."

"Come again?"

She bit back the dirty reply that immediately came to mind and pushed him, turning him around. Gingerly, she began to run the loofah over his shoulders. "I'll do you," she said, "and you do me."

After, they dried off together silently. Lorelai wrapped her towel tightly around her and turned to the tub. She scowled at it a moment. "I _have_ to get one of those thingies for the bottom with the little grippers that make you not slide around." She looked at Luke over her shoulder. "Shouldn't showering together be, I don't know, sexier than that? Less like work and more like sex?"

He put his hand out and motioned for her to come closer. He put his arms around her, drew her close, rested his chin on the top of her head as he held her. After a few seconds, she realized he was shaking with suppressed laughter. She shoved him away, rolling her eyes.

"Fine, fine. Laugh if you will, I'm going to go get dressed," she told him.

He put his clothes back on in the bathroom, calling to her across the hall. "Hey, I have to stop at my place and change. These clothes—"

"They reek," she hollered. "That's fine, I don't have any food anyway. We can grab something in town."

When she emerged from her room, clad in a simple cotton sundress, he was still standing in the bathroom. He stared up at the shower head, his hands on his hips. "You have really bad water pressure," he told her. "I can fix it."

Lorelai grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him towards the living room. "Just don't break anything this time," she said.

They walked hand in hand towards the center of town, not talking. Both were more tired than they were willing to admit. Luke squeezed Lorelai's hand, absently running his thumb over hers. She started slightly at this, feeling the familiar flutter in her ribcage, the slight constriction in her throat. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, overwhelmed by the surge of feeling within her, feeling tinged with sadness. Sookie's statement from early that morning had been rattling in the back of her mind all day, needling at her. She shook her head slightly, as though she could displace the guilt and confusion through the sheer force of will. She returned the pressure on his hand, and he smiled slightly at her.

Luke paused in the diner to see how things were going before he went upstairs to change. Lorelai sat at a stool by the counter, her chin in her hand. Thinking idly about what food she was in the mood for, she had a sudden brainstorm. "Caesar," she said, waving him over from the other end of the counter. "Hey, when Luke comes down, just tell him to meet me at the gazebo. And tell him to bring a blanket. And no food." He nodded silently and walked away again. "You're a peach," she muttered, and slid off the stool, left the diner.

Ten minutes later, she hurried her steps towards the square, lugging a large paper bag with both hands, holding it away from her dress slightly. She smiled to herself as she walked. She squinted against the setting sun as she approached the gazebo. Luke was waiting for her, leaning against a pillar, facing away from her, his hands in his pockets. Lorelai called out to him and he turned, immediately descending to take the bag from her hands. She stood still a moment after he did, watching him walk back up the gazebo stairs. Instead of his usual uniform, he wore a white oxford with his jeans, the shirt open at the collar and untucked. The baseball hat was absent altogether.

"Luke, I am speechless," she said. "Look at you."

He averted his eyes. "It's too hot for flannel today." He put the paper bag on a bench and looked at her expectantly. He had laid the blanket on the gazebo floor, and she gestured to him to sit, smirking as she did.

"You dressed up for a date, didn't you?" she asked. He shrugged. "Seriously, Luke, you're a total woman sometimes," she told him, but her tone was affectionate, teasing.

He ignored her and jerked his chin at the paper bag. "Whatta ya got there?" he asked, pulling it down and placing it between them.

Lorelai arranged herself on the blanket, tucking her legs up under her. She opened the bag and peered inside, bringing out containers as she spoke. "You've got your kung pow, your szchezuan, your General Tso's, your lo mein, your hunaan—it's a veritable cornucopia of delicious treats."

"Chinese food," he said darkly. He picked up a pair of chopsticks and considered them warily. "You're kidding."

"The way I figure it is that the more food I eat with preservatives and weird things that I can't pronounce, the longer I will stay youthful and stunning," she told him. "Pick one," she said, taking the kung pow chicken for herself. Reluctantly, he reached for the szchezuan beef.

Luke split the chopsticks apart from each other and stared at them a moment. "How are you supposed to eat with these things?" he asked her.

"You use a fork," she said, handing him a plastic one in a baggie. She traded him the chop sticks and began jabbing at the container she held, her tongue between her teeth, her brow set in concentration.

He watched her, bemused. "You know how to use those things?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "_Please._ If Uma can do it, I can totally do it." It took her a few moments to get the hang of it, and even when she did, she ate with the take-out carton immediately beneath her chin. "Here," she said after a while, "switch."

"What?"

"It's Chinese food, Luke, it's communal. You can't dominate one entrée, it's against the laws of the universe."

When she'd had her fill, Lorelai rose and stretched. Luke piled the leftovers back in the paper bag and soon followed suit, getting slowly to his feet. Lorelai rested her chin on her shoulder and studied him, a smile playing on her lips.

"My goodness but you're a handsome man, Luke Danes," she said.

"Right," he said dryly.

"I mean it!" she said. "You're really wearing that shirt." She sat on the bench and crossed her legs, patting the place just beside her. He sat and put his arm around her shoulders. "I've always liked the whole white shirt with jeans look. It should be the handsome man uniform. There is not a handsome man alive that cannot pull off the white shirt with jeans."

"I'll remember that." He fidgeted where he sat, unable to keep his feet still.

Lorelai put her hand on his knee. "Hey," she said softly. "We have a few days yet, okay? Don't worry about it."

He nodded. "I know."

"Is that what's bothering you?"

He passed his hand over his face, sighing. "It's nothing."

Lorelai took her hand back and sat up a little straighter. "Translation," she said. "It's Lorelai."

"It's not," he said. "I'm just—I'm tired, is all."

"Okay, sure," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "We should go; we're both exhausted."

"Lorelai, don't, okay? I'm fine."

Once again, they found themselves under the weight of another oppressive and uncomfortable silence. Lorelai wondered if, unable to read him, she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion and in doing so only reminded him of the thing that was constantly just under the surface. Pouting, she indulged in a brief moment of intense self-pity commingled with self-disgust. She looked over her shoulder. It was movie night at the library, and people began to trickle past, falling into a line in front of the building.

"Quite a crowd tonight," she murmured. "Hey," she said, quickly turning to Luke. "Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me. Right now. And I'm not talking about some half-assed kiss, I mean, full-out—"

He cut her off, taking her face in his hands. When he kissed her, Lorelai felt shots of electricity in her fingertips, her palms, her spine. Her middle tightened and she leaned into him, resting her hands in the crooks of his elbows. She lost herself, forgetting everything but the way he tasted, the way he felt, the pressure of his lips, the scratch of his stubble. She felt heady, drunk. His kisses were always strong, always full of feeling, but as he kissed her now she felt everything she had when he'd kissed her the first time, when everything was laden with uncertainty and expectation and the knowledge that when he drew her to him, they couldn't go back.

_"Get a room!"_

Luke broke the kiss, startled by the cry that came from a passerby on the street. Lorelai gripped his arms, her eyes locked on his face. "Not yet," she said, kissing him again.

"Now, really, you two, is that appropriate behavior to display in public? On a town landmark, no less? There are _people_ over at the library, watching you. People with _children._" Taylor stood on the grass below them, his arms crossed over his chest. "If you do not cease and desist at this moment, I will be forced to place you under citizen's arrest for indecency."

Lorelai pressed her cheek to Luke's. "Take me home," she whispered.

He took her by the hand and rose, drawing her to her feet, pulling her slightly behind him as he stepped down the stairs. "Shove it, Taylor," he said.

"You can't just leave your things there like that, Luke," Taylor declared, pointing.

Luke said nothing, walking briskly down Main Street, Lorelai trailing slightly behind him. When they cleared the center of town, he slowed. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple.

"What was that about?" he asked. "You know I don't usually enjoy an audience for those sorts of things, but I thought I'd go along with it. Seemed important."

She wrapped her arms around him as they walked, pushing her cheek into his shoulder. "I was," she said slowly, "embracing the fear."

He was quiet a few paces, mulling it over. "And?"

She tilted her face up to him. "It was scary. It was good." She took a deep breath. "_I'm_ good," she said. She kissed his cheek. "I love you."

Lorelai thought his eyes were slightly watery as he replied. "I know you do. I love you."

She smiled broadly. "God help you, Luke Danes."

Luke kissed her lightly and they continued home in the falling dusk.


	31. Playing Nice

Playing Nice

Lorelai rolled over in her sleep and found herself blinking, suddenly awake, having pushed herself face-first into the mattress. She lifted her head, disoriented. The room was lit only by the gray light of an early, rainy dawn. Luke sat on the edge of the bed, already in his jeans, tying his shoelaces. Lorelai sat up and dragged herself across the bed to lean against Luke's back.

"Hey," he said softly, "go back to sleep."

"What time is it?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his middle.

"It's early," he told her. "Sleep."

She kissed his shoulder. "I feel like I've been sleeping forever."

"We did go to bed kinda early."

Lorelai giggled. "Well, we went did go to be early, but we went to sleep later than that."

Luke turned slightly and put his arm around her. He kissed her temple, resting his chin against her hair. "So, you feeling more rested? No Jack Nicholson or ladies in the kitchen?"

"Better not be ladies in the kitchen," she said. "But, yes, I got some very good sleep."

"Good, get some more."

With this he moved to rise, but Lorelai tightened her arms around him. "Wait. Just stay a second." She took his hand and tugged him back with her as she scooted towards her pillow. With a sigh, he lay down beside her, letting his feet hang off the edge of the bed. She fit herself against his side, laying her hand over his heart. "Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"I really, really, really don't want to have dinner with my dad tonight." Luke sighed, but said nothing. "It just feels so—I don't know, hypocritical? To sit there and make stupid small talk and pretend that he's actually interested in my life when he hasn't been for thirty some-odd years except for the times he was telling me what to do or passing judgments on what I did do." She paused. "Even at Friday night dinners, you know, it was my mom who was making an effort, never my dad. And I know he's trying and I know I should just accept that and go along with it, but I'm not sure how long I can do that before I just start feeling bitter and squelched and boxed in again."

Luke laced his fingers through Lorelai's and lifted their joined hands slightly, considering them a moment. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said, at length. "I can't tell you what to do."

She tilted her face to look up at him. "Do you think I'm being petty?"

"I don't know," Luke said.

Lorelai closed her eyes, tapping her fingertips against Luke's hand. "Okay," she said.

"Okay?"

"I'll think about it, and I'll let you know."

"Okay, then," Luke said. "I have to go. I'll see you in a few hours?"

She murmured in agreement as he sat up again and got out of bed. Lorelai curled herself around a pillow. "Sleepy," she sighed.

Luke was already pulling his flannel shirt over his tee. He walked back to the bed and leaned over her, smoothing the hair off her forehead and kissing her cheek lightly. "I'll see you soon."

Lorelai raised her head and looked at him through half-closed eyes. "Prepare yourself for the deluge," she said.

"The deluge?"

"We made out in the town square for all the world to see, Luke. People will be talking. People will be pointing. Possibly in combination."

Luke put his hat on and shook his head. "Go back to sleep."

Her alarm went off at seven-thirty and it took all the early morning restraint she could muster not to throw it against the wall, cover her head with a pillow, and go back to sleep. She rose immediately and stumbled down the stairs, shuffled to the kitchen, and swung out the filter to see if Luke had left coffee ready for her. She smiled. "And this is why I love you, Luke Danes," she said, and pushed the power button.

As she walked around the house, getting ready, sipping her coffee, dawdling over the arts section of the paper, Lorelai kept passing the phone; each time she did, she stopped, stared, shook her head, and moved on. Halfway out the door on her way to town, she bit her lip, hesitating.

"This is ridiculous," she said aloud, and stalked to the phone, dialing before she had time to think. Her father answered on the second ring. "Dad, hi," she said, her voice sounding high and tinny to her own ears.

"Lorelai," Richard said, surprised. "It's rather early for you, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, no, I do go to work, you know, all day, so this is pretty standard."

"Ah, well. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Lorelai turned in a circle as she spoke, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "Actually, Dad," she began, taking a deep breath, "I wanted to talk to you about dinner tonight."

"Do you have a special request for the meal?"

"Well, no," she said. She dropped to sit on the floor and put a hand to her forehead. "I was wondering if there was anyway we could possibly reschedule? For another night?"

"Oh," he said. "Well—"

"It's just that Mom and Rory are going to be home this coming Thursday, and we've still got so much to do in Rory's room, and there's not that much time to do it all," she said.

"I see."

The disappointment in his voice hit Lorelai full in the chest. She bit her lip. "I was just—I thought maybe we could postpone for a week or two, or—" She paused, shaking her head. "Are you free for lunch today?"

"Lunch?"

She sat up a little straighter. "Yes, it's a meal commonly consumed at mid-day. If you're free, maybe we could—"

"I believe I could work that into my schedule, yes," he said.

"Great," she replied, though she thought he still sounded wounded. "Should I meet you somewhere, or do you want to come out here, or—?"

Richard seemed to pause a moment. "I quite liked the food at Luke's, both when I had dinner with you and when I stopped in yesterday. Perhaps we could—"

"Luke's? You want to go to Luke's? Sure, okay, yeah, fine," she said, stuttering slightly. "Luke's. Around… one?"

"One it is."

"Okay. Well. Thanks, Dad. See you then."

"Goodbye, Lorelai."

She drove to town, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. _Dear Rory_, she thought, _how is it possible to feel guilty for getting out of something that you didn't want to do in the first place, so guilty, in fact, that you devise a whole new method of torture instead? Is that normal behavior? And, while we're on it, why do I feel guilty in the first place?_ She sighed and slammed the door of the Jeep shut, made her way across the street. She opened the door to the diner and immediately walked to the counter.

The place was nearly full, as it always was at this time of morning, and as Lorelai entered, a hush fell over the room. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed.

"Oh, I know, I know, okay?" she said.

Luke emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hand on a towel. "Hey," he greeted her. He looked around. "What's going on?"

"I have finally silenced a room just by coming in," Lorelai said. "You know, I always thought achieving my life's dream would be a little sweeter than this."

He poured her a cup of coffee. "Ignore it."

"Gladly," she said, taking a sip. She raised an eyebrow. "This is an excellent cup of coffee. Tell me, what is your secret?"

"I'll never tell," he told her, grinning. "So. How's things?"

"And by things, you mean my dad," she said. She folded her arms on the countertop and leaned forward, her eyes sad. "I called him. I told him I needed to reschedule the dinner because we needed to work on Rory's room, what with her homecoming rapidly approaching." She raised her eyes to meet Luke's. "I really hurt his feelings. I could tell."

"Ah, geez."

Lorelai pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, pouting slightly. "I know. So then I asked him if he wanted to meet for lunch, and he asked to meet me here, and all I can think about is the last time we did that, which was one of the most horrible nights of my life, and I am still going to have to sit and play nice with my dad because I, apparently, have no resolve whatsoever. More coffee, please."

Luke topped off her cup. "You did a good thing."

"After I did a mean thing." She made a face. "Whatever. I'll deal. I've sat through innumerable uncomfortable meals in my life, I can sit through this one." She sighed. "Do you think I can just go back to bed and sleep through the rest of this week?"

"Nope." He put a plate with a heated, buttered, blueberry muffin on it in front of her. "You want anything else?"

She smirked. "Nothing you could serve on a plate," she said.

"Inappropriate," Luke said. He paused a beat and stepped away from Lorelai towards the center of the counter. "Would you people just get a life already? Geez," he bellowed.

Lorelai polished off her muffin, chugged her coffee, and slid off the stool. She gestured to Luke, who was serving a couple by the window.

"I have to go to work. My dad's coming by at one, and I should be on time, but, you know, just in case. So, I'll be back," she said, patting his chest with the flat of her hand.

He caught her hand and held it there, leaning in. "We might as well get it over with," he said, his voice low.

"Well, after an enchanting proposal like that, how can I resist?" Lorelai said wryly. She kissed him lightly and turned to go as the diner erupted in "oooh!"s.

"You're very funny," she heard Luke say before the door closed behind her.

Lorelai wandered into the kitchen of the Dragonfly after checking in with Michel. "Hey, Sook," she said, idly peering into a bowl that stood on the counter.

Sookie grinned knowingly. "Heard you put on quite the show in the square last night," she said.

"Yes, yes, mock me if you will. The entire town is watching us even more than before, and I really hold you responsible," Lorelai told her.

"Me? How?" Sookie asked, her eyes wide.

Lorelai stepped to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cup. "You told me to let it go, so I let it go."

"I didn't tell you to let it go in front of the entire town," she replied.

"No, I added that part," she assented.

"And?"

Lorelai smiled slightly, almost shyly. "I can honestly say that everything is good."

Sookie clapped her hands and threw her arms out to give Lorelai a hug. "See?" she said. "You should listen to me more often."

Lorelai stared at the clock in her office obsessively all morning as she flipped through her account books and sifted through mail, unable to concentrate. At five of one, she grabbed her purse and slowly made her way towards town.

Her father was waiting for her a table near the back of the diner, his elbows on the tabletop, his hands folded beneath his chin. He rose when she entered, gesturing at the empty seat opposite him. Lorelai sidestepped a few patrons and gave her father a nervous greeting as she sat.

"Have you ordered yet?" she asked him, reaching for the menu. She scanned the long-familiar text, unwilling to meet her father's eyes.

He shook his head. "I would never order until my lunch companion arrived," he said. "Why don't you order for me, you know what's the best here."

She slammed the menu shut. "That I do," she said.

Luke was at her elbow, then, pouring her a cup of coffee before she could ask. "Hello, sir," he said. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"It's really good coffee," Lorelai said, peeking over the rim of her cup. "Best coffee, possibly, ever."

"Well, then, how can I refuse?" Richard said.

"You ready to order?" Luke asked.

"I am always ready to order," she said. "We're going to have the French dip."

"Extra fries," Luke replied.

Lorelai watched him walk away, sighing slightly. She tipped her head to the side and looked at her father. "Dad, I'm sorry about this evening. We just—I have to get all the pictures framed and decide where they're going to go, and Luke's not finished with the desk yet, and I have to get all of Rory's clothes back in—"

"It's quite all right, Lorelai," Richard said. "I understand."

She looked down and sipped her coffee. "Dad?"

"Yes, Lorelai?"

"I need to tell you something, and I know—I know we've talked about this before and we promised yesterday to be on our best behavior, but you know me, I never fail to disappoint—"

Richard heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "And what is on your mind, Lorelai?"

Lorelai gripped her coffee cup with both hands. "Dad, I know that you feel forging ahead in our relationship is an important step for you in doing whatever it is you're trying to do, to change, or grow, or to show Mom how much you love her, and I know that you're doing this for the sake of family and blood and all of those things. I know you're trying to accept my life the way it is, even if you don't approve. I know that. And I know that neither of us wants to rehash everything that's happened, everything that was said and done and not said and not done ever since I got pregnant. I don't want to revisit those things, I don't want to have to defend myself or make you angry or be angry—I don't want to do that. But you have to know that I can't just pretend those things didn't happen. I can't start over without recognizing that we're coming from a seriously dysfunctional place. And—and I'm willing to try, I am, but I can't do it without telling you that. Or without telling you that sometimes, this is just going to be hard, trying to talk to you, trying to find common ground, feeling like this is really where you want to be." She stopped, met his eyes, took a breath. "I think what you're doing is—trying to change is one of the hardest things anyone can do, and I think it's great you're trying. And I'll try, too, I'll try to do my best. But I just needed to tell you that."

For a long while, Richard simply sat, nodding his head, his face set in hard, concentrated lines. Luke arrived in the interim with their meal, just touching Lorelai's shoulder as he walked away. Richard, at length, unfolded a napkin on his lap and met Lorelai's eyes. "Thank you, Lorelai," he said.

Lorelai hesitated before she spoke again. "Dad?"

"Yes, Lorelai?" he asked wearily.

"I just—I want to know what you're going to do when Mom comes back. Are you going to sit down and talk to her, or are you—"

He sighed. "I really don't know, Lorelai, to tell you the truth. I am hoping she'll come back. If she doesn't—" He hesitated, slightly at this, a hitch in his voice. "—if she doesn't, then I shall do my very best to show her…" He trailed off.

"To show her… what, Dad?" Lorelai asked. "That you're now an accomplished squash player in addition to your skill on the golf course? That you've used the time apart to become a professional ballroom dancer? That you've taken up macramé?"

Richard stared intently at the food on his plate. "That I need her very much."

Lorelai said nothing for a moment, watching her father, who seemed suddenly rather frail and tired and thin. "Okay, Dad," she said. "It'll work out, you know."

"Will it?" he asked. Lorelai had never seen her father this pained, not even the night she had told him and Emily she was pregnant

She nodded. "Yeah, Dad."

"And if it doesn't?"

Lorelai began to pick at her fries. "You keep on doing what you're doing," she said.

Richard considered this a moment and sipped his coffee. He looked up, his face both delighted and surprised. "This coffee is superb," he said.

Lorelai laughed aloud. "Yes, Dad, it most certainly is."


	32. Among the Ruins

Among the Ruins

Rory lie on her stomach, her chin in her hands as she watched Emily packing their suitcases. It was an elaborate process, consisting of lining the bottom of the luggage with rolled up shirts acting as cushion for the layer of gifts that went in next. She kicked her feet in the air and leaned over the edge of the bed.

"No, Grandma—I have to take that on the plane with me. It's Luke's chess set—I don't want it to get crushed," she said.

Emily looked up. "Oh, yes, the glassware. We'll keep the leather bags separate, as well, to keep from creasing them. Anything else that you'd like to hold on to? What are these?" she asked, picking up two triangular-shaped packages. "Oof. They're rather heavy."

Rory ducked her head slightly. "They're bookends," she said. "Really beautiful, dark wood, with all these ornate carvings on them. I found them at a used book store out by the Vatican."

"Who are they for?"

"Grandpa," Rory said.

Emily paused before tucking them in among Rory's pajamas and shirts. "To replace those dreadful brass ones on his desk, I suppose? A lovely idea. I've always hated those things; they really are quite the ugliest thing in the room."

"In the house," Rory said. "They're hideous. I think he'll like these." She bit her lip, watching her grandmother closely as she continued to organize. "I guess he's been calling Mom pretty regularly," she said.

"Really?" Emily said, her voice even, disinterested.

"They've been having dinner together, too. She said something about his having sort of retired, but I didn't understand."

She reacted slightly to this, a twitch of the lips, a raised eyebrow. "Well, that would be something," she said in the same careful voice. "What on earth are all these little boxes?"

Rory scooted over the edge of the bed, placing her elbows against the floor, balancing against the mattress on her middle. Emily waved at a group of eight or ten small jewelry boxes. "Oh, those are for Lane. I bought her a whole bunch of cross necklaces. They each go with a different shirt from a different city. And some of them are rosary beads for Mom."

"Rosary beads?"

"She collects them." She hitched herself back on the bed. "Is it legal to put gifts and everything like that in suitcases? What if they stop us and go through it?"

Emily seemed amused by this. "Rory. In over thirty years of traveling, I have never once been stopped. Even in the past few years, I have never had a problem."

"Don't they weigh suitcases, though? What if they're too heavy?"

"I have been doing this a very long time, Rory. I know what I am doing."

Rory rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Okay, Grandma."

It was their last night in Rome. Rory had spent the day wandering, walking down past the Circus Maximus and the Mouth of Truth, past the Victor Emmanuel memorial, down Via del Corso. She passed the Forum and the Colosseum, the Theater of Marcellus. She had left the apartment with no agenda, only wanting to walk. She paused and threw her three coins in the Trevi Fountain; she closed her eyes as she tossed them over her shoulder but made no wish. She ended up in the Piazza della Rotunda outside the Pantheon. She stood a long time before the central fountain, watching people wander past, listening to the sounds of the city. Even in the short time she had spent, Rory thought Rome felt strangely like home—not a home forever, never a permanent place of residence, but a home when for those times when she felt transient, disconnected, weary with herself. She understood writers, expatriates who had left home and headed for some place else—it was easier, she thought, to see the place you'd left, to understand it and your place in it, at a distance. From far away, the view was something else altogether and she thought she could see more clearly.

They were leaving for the airport at eight for a ten thirty flight. They had a connection in Amsterdam, and they were scheduled to arrive in New York at four thirty in the afternoon. Emily decided at the start of the trip to stay in the city that night, rather than tack on a two or three hour car trip, with traffic figured in, onto an eleven hour flight, and Rory had readily agreed.

She had been waiting since Saturday for her grandmother to suggest packing and last things, watching her carefully all the while. Emily had gamely gone on a few last tours with her—Byron's statue in the Borghesi gardens and the museum there as well—and was just as she had been since they left Venice: tired, pale, and impassable. On Monday afternoon, she remarked that they might start getting ready to go the next day. There was nothing in the apartment, really, to take care of, she said, so it was only the packing they should worry about. Rory assented and began to pick up the few things she had left scattered around, but Emily stopped her. They could leave it to tomorrow, there was no rush.

"I have some things planned for tomorrow, Grandma, and I don't want to forget anything. It's not a big deal, I'll just start piling my stuff up in my room," she said, stacking books in her arms.

"Whatever you like," Emily had said. "Leave the packing to me, Rory, I'll take care of it."

And so Rory was on her bed, watching her grandmother fold her clothes and fit everything inside the suitcase like pieces in a puzzle. There was a comment for most things, approval of gifts or clothing or a slight "tsk" for other things—the "wanker" shirt she'd bought Lane, the novelty Pope statue for Lorelai. She handled everything with care, smoothing things with her hands, folding clothing just so. Rory closed her eyes.

Emily was shaking her awake at ten of seven the next morning. "You looked so peaceful last night," she said. "I didn't want to disturb you. Come, you have to shower and pack your carry on still. I threw our your old knapsack—tatty nylon—so you should use that nice leather bag we bought."

Groggily, Rory nodded. "Coffee," she croaked.

The driver came for them at eight exactly and took them beyond the outskirts of the city to Fiumincino Airport, which Emily detested. She was correct, however, about getting their bags checked and passing security measures. She looked at Rory over her shoulder as they boarded, as if to say, "there, you see?"

They had not been in the air long when Rory reached into her new bag and extracted her journal. She pulled down the dining tray and placed the notebook there, staring at it a moment. She ran her fingers along the spine, the edges of the paper, the elastic band, the cover. She slipped the elastic off—it had become loose over the trip but still held—and flipped past pages and pages filled with her tiny, neat script. She smoothed down the next blank page and uncapped her pen.

_Dear Mom,_

_I feel like I should be thinking about something important right now. Like I should have some grand, important observation about the time I spent away, or some sort of philosophical mantra to take with me. I know you said I couldn't leave expecting to have all the answers when I came back (and I did remember the expensive chocolates, just for you), and I didn't. I don't have all the answers. I don't know that I have any answers, or even what the questions really were. _

_There was something about __Rome__ that I think I missed the first time around. When you and I went, there was so much to see and do and talk about and eat and everything, and it was an amazing experience, but we never sat still, not for a minute. I'm not saying that as a bad thing, because I wouldn't have had it any other way. That was my trip with my mom just the way we'd always planned it. But this trip let me do something different, too, and I think it's just as important. I'm leaving feeling full of something, but I can't quite articulate it._

_Grandma said she loved __Rome__ because it was old world. Everything's squat there—St. Peter's will always have to be the tallest building—and it somehow made me feel taller. What I just can't get over, though, is walking through the city, being passed by people on motorbikes and those weird smart cars, seeing the buses and the trams and the advertisements everywhere—and of course, the cats; who could forget the cats? All the stray cats in the _world_ live in __Rome__—and then turning just to the right and seeing the ruins of something older than you can really understand. I think that's one of the things I like best about this city, that right alongside metro stops and office buildings are the remains of temples and monuments. You could walk the city end to end and you'd never run out of reminders of the past. And more than that, they protect them—there are sections of the Forum you can't go into anymore because they're so fragile. They put ramps and railings in the Coliseum. The history of this city is just memorialized everywhere you go, even the bad things, like the path Mussolini cut in the middle of the city during World War II. _

_I want to think that's comforting. That it's possible to keep bumping into the things that remind you of the way life used to be and that they're built into the present, the reality of who you are and where you are at any given moment. There are things I've learned to live with before, like you and Dad and Sherri and Gigi, how it didn't work out the way we thought it would, and how it hurt when it happened—but that's a hurt I've learned to walk around, to see it and recognize it and just keep going. Maybe that's just the way you have to deal with the past, with the terrible things you said or did or saw or felt—let the ruin stand, let it be. They're called ruins for a reason: eventually, they start to fall apart. They never go away, but they don't hold up, either. _

_I don't know, maybe I'm just talking in clichés. Maybe it's trite to say we're all just walking microcosms with our own personal ruins to build around, that some are newer than others, and some are so old they're buried and we won't find them unless we're looking for them, and some are just so big you can't see around them. But there are buses and footpaths, and you can get around them, even if you can't ignore them. _

_Are you going to disown me for that? Was it too much? Would it be better if I quoted Lloyd Dobler? Here: "Maybe the world is a blur of food and sex and spectacle and everyone's just hurtling towards a necropolis." But I know you don't think that. Well, except for the food part._

_Dean and Jess—I can't go back to those places anymore. I know that. But it won't do me any good to pretend it never happened, either. There's still a lot I haven't figured out, Mom, so you were right—and you can wipe that grin right off your face, I know, you're always right. But I'm coming home with so much, too. What's that lyric? You can't always get what you want but sometimes you get what you need? I think I just killed it, but that's the gist, right? So, no, I don't know what's going to happen next. But I do know myself a little better than I did before. For the most part, anyway. _

_Love you, Mom._

_Rory._

Rory shut the journal slowly, replacing the elastic before she slid it back into her book bag. She drew her feet up to the edge of her seat and clasped her hands at her shins, hugging her knees to her chest. She saw Emily watching her from the corner of her eye.

"What's up, Grandma?" she asked. "Besides us, that is."

Emily smiled. "I see you scribbling away in that thing all the time. What are you writing?"

Rory shrugged. "It's just a journal. Something to remember the trip by."

"What a good idea," Emily said. "And some day, when you write your memoirs of your days in the field as an international correspondent—"

"Grandma," Rory groaned.

"—you'll have this to look back on," she finished. "I used to keep a journal, before I married your grandfather."

"Did you keep them?"

She shook her head. "I burned them just after college."

Rory's mouth fell open. "You burned them? Why?"

"They were very… precious to me. It seemed a way to keep them sacred," she said. "Just a silly romantic notion."

They chatted for a while idly about the stories they would tell, what their favorite moments had been, the best things they saw and bought and ate. Emily's smiles were wistful, her eyes brighter than Rory had seen in a while. The conversation paused a moment, and she seemed to remember.

"Grandma?" Rory said, her voice tentative.

"Yes, Rory?"

"What are you going to do when you get back? I mean, are you going to go home, or—I mean, where will you go?" she asked.

Emily sighed. "I don't know, Rory. I suppose I've tried not to think of it." She put her hand to Rory's face, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "And you? What will you do?"

Rory thought a moment before she answered. "The right thing," she said. "Whatever it is."

Emily seemed to understand this, and said nothing, but again smoothed the hair off Rory's face. "I cannot thank you enough, Rory, for coming with me on this trip."

"Oh, Grandma, I should be thanking you—it's been so amazing, and it was just what I needed, and—"

Her grandmother shushed her. "No thanks, then. We'll just say we're both grateful for the experience and the wonderful company, be very dignified about the whole thing."

Rory giggled. "Okay, Grandma. I am quite grateful, then, for the experience, the wonderful company, and also the food and the shopping."

"Oh, goodness, how could I forget the food and the shopping?" Emily said, smiling.

The flight was uneventful. Rory snoozed and suffered through half a Julia Roberts movie before giving up and reaching for a novel. They arrived on schedule, but in waiting for luggage and taxis and all the other details of traveling, did not get to their hotel until well after six. Rory collapsed on the bed, rubbing her hip.

"I am so sore. Sitting down is tiring," she said. She immediately reached for her phone. "I have to call Mom."

"Yes, do. I'll order up some food. What are you in the mood for?"

"A cheeseburger and fries from Luke's," Rory said. "But I'll take the closest thing to it." She flipped the phone open and pressed her speed dial.

The phone didn't ring. "This is Lorelai Gilmore, and you've reached my cell phone. I'm unavailable, but please leave me a message and I will call you back as soon as possible."

She groaned. "Mom, we're back and your cell is _off?_ I'm slightly offended. Call me!" She hit the end button and dialed again.

"We're out, but leave us some love and we'll consider calling you back."

"Mom, are you home? Mom?" She sighed. "Okay, when you get this, call me. We're back, we're at the hotel, we're in one piece, we're tired and wounded and returning from battle and are really hurt by the lack of enthusiasm at our arrival." She snapped her phone shut. "She's not answering her phones," Rory said. "I could call the Dragonfly or Luke's, but I think I'll just wait."

Emily came to sit beside her. "Room service should be here any moment," she said. "I had to get you a cheese and steak wrap, is that all right?"

"Sounds good."

"If it's not what you'd like, I can always send for something else."

"It's perfect," Rory said.

When the food arrived, both women picked at their meals silently. Rory looked around the hotel room, as nice as any she had seen, but the stiff wallpaper and the satiny coverlets depressed her suddenly. She shoved fries in her mouth, trying to swallow over the lump building in her throat. When she had almost finished her dinner, she pushed the plate away and curled up on the bed, hugging herself. Six weeks away from home and here she was, not three hours away, experiencing the most crushing wave of homesickness she'd felt since going. She wanted to talk to her mother—she wanted someone to know she was coming. She kept checking the face on her cell phone, waiting for Lorelai's call, but the battery was rapidly depleting and her charger was in the bottom of the biggest suitcase. At a quarter after nine, she sat up.

"Grandma, I know this is going to sound awful and crazy and you can totally say no if you want to, but I just really need to go home," Rory said, speaking so quickly she stumbled over her words. "I just—it's just hit me that we're back and we're here and I just really want to see my mom." There was a catch in her voice she hadn't expected. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just—I think I need to go home."

Emily's face was blank as she registered this. After a moment, she looked Rory in the eye and nodded. The pale, wan look had returned and Rory felt guilty, childish.

"I'm sorry, I'm being a baby. It's just that we're so close and everything," Rory said, "and—"

Her grandmother rose from her seat and put her arm around Rory. "No need to apologize. I understand. It has been a long trip today, and we're both tired. The prospect of spending another night in a hotel is unappealing at best. Perhaps we didn't plan this quite as well as we should have." She gave Rory a squeeze. "I'll see what I can do."

"If it's going to be a big deal—"

Emily gestured dismissively with her hands and walked to the telephone. Rory sat on the bed, open-mouthed, as Emily negotiated for a driver. She was by turns friendly, understanding, condescending, hostile, and polite. She spoke to five people before she got the answer she wanted and hung up.

"Grandma, you are _good_," Rory said.

"They'll be here in an hour. I think you should just leave your big suitcase here, for now, and take the carry-on with you. I'll bring down the larger one tomorrow," Emily said.

"You're not coming?" Rory asked, eyes wide.

Emily sat heavily on the bed. "At this time of night? No, Rory. I'm not coming. I haven't decided where to go yet, and I can't just appear on your mother's doorstep in the middle of the night begging for a bed."

"Sure you can!" Rory said. "People have done it before!"

But she was emphatic, and when Rory got into the car an hour later, Emily stood on the sidewalk, waving and smiling. Just before Rory got in the car, Emily embraced Rory tightly.

"I am very grateful for you, Rory," she said. She touched Rory's face, her eyes bright.

"Me too, Grandma," Rory said, kissing her cheek. "Tomorrow, we'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"I will see you tomorrow."

Rory curled into herself in the backseat, watching the city roll by her on her way back home. She closed her eyes. It was time to go, she thought.

Emily returned to the hotel room, bereft. She sat on the bed, feeling the walls press in on her. With a sigh, she undid the top button of her collar, kicked off her shoes, and moved to her suitcase. Just behind it was the hotel desk, the light on. Right in the center was a slim package. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. In the bottom left corner, in her fine, tiny letters, Rory had written "For Grandma." Emily slid the paper wrapper off carefully.

It covered a journal just the size of a volume of poetry. The cover was a rich red velvet, the pages' edges lined in gold. Emily opened it, her brow furrowed in bewilderment. The paper was thick, smooth, the color of cream. She read the inscription Rory put just inside the cover.

_Dear Grandma,_

_I don't think I have the pull necessary to get you a spot with the circus, and feather skirts are totally out of fashion, anyways. We can't have you going to __Hollywood__, either, because it's just too far away. And unfortunately, the Queen of __England__ is a hereditary post and there's not much we can do about that short of a bloody coup, and the stains are just so hard to get out that it's not worth the effort. So that leaves writing, which isn't so bad. Jorge Luis Borges said "when writers die, they become books, which is not so bad a reincarnation." I bought this for you on the last day in __Rome__, at that stationary store down by the Pantheon. I hope you like. I hope you use it—for whatever it is you want to write. Memoirs, poetry, romance novels, a journal; just write what you want to write, Grandma. _

_This trip is one of the best and most important things I've ever done, and I got to do it because of you. It's not much, but it's my way of thanking you._

_Love, Rory._

Emily sat heavily, tears in her eyes. She closed the journal and hugged it to her chest, letting herself cry, just a little. After a moment, she rose, wiped her eyes, and carefully put the journal into her purse. There would be a day, perhaps, when she'd be ready for it, she thought. With that, she readied herself for bed and tried to sleep.


	33. Homecoming

Homecoming

Rory should have arrived in Stars Hollow just after midnight. The driver, however, encountered a roadblock on the highway, and following the signs, wound up on a rural back road that came to a dead end. Apologizing profusely, he backtracked the forty-five minutes he had wandered and took an alternate route, adding another half hour to the trip. By the time Rory closed the car door behind her and looked up at the house she had lived in for nearly half her life, it was close to two in the morning. She sighed, both exhausted and relieved, and began fishing for her house keys in her purse.

She dropped her bag by the hall table and kicked off her shoes, padding across the living room and towards the stairs. Slowly, skipping the fifth step that squeaked, she made her way up the stairs and around the corner to her mother's room. The room was lit only by the thin beams of moonlight falling beneath the drawn curtains. Rory hung back in the doorway, allowing her eyes to adjust to the new darkness.

Lorelai lie on her side, her face turned in Rory's direction. Her hair fanned out behind her, dark against the pillow. Her face was soft and relaxed, content, Rory thought. She could make out Luke's silhouette as he slept beside her mother. He faced Lorelai, one hand resting on her hip. Lorelai held the other to her chest, cradled between her own. Luke coughed slightly in his sleep; Lorelai sighed and pushed her face deeper into the pillow, throwing one leg over Luke's as she did. Rory stepped back, hugging herself, a slight, warm pain in her chest.

She descended the stairs again, cringing at each slight creak she made, tiptoeing through the living room, down the hall to her bedroom. She paused before she flipped the light switch by the door, running her hand through her hair, preparing herself for the crush of memories that would come when the lights came on. She shook herself, turned on the light, and felt her breath catch in her chest, her mouth fall open. She staggered back, overcome, one hand over her mouth. Again, she found herself standing in the doorway, faced with an entirely new circumstance in the most familiar of places.

Gingerly, Rory stepped over the threshold and looked about her, unsure where to start. The bed was made, piled high with round throw pillows the color of sunshine and milk, the old duvet replaced with a lemony cotton that felt already worn soft to the touch. Her eyes traveled up towards the headboard, a light wood curved to a slight arch in the center, etched with a border of scallops and swirls. Rory walked closer, running her fingers over the grooves of the design, along the smooth sweep of the curved wood. She bit her lip and her eyes filled as she turned and stood before her desk, an enormous affair, long and wide and perfect for spreading out papers and books and computers and cups of coffee. She knelt before it, in the absence of a chair, resting her arms along the edge. It was bracketed to the wall, supported at the front by two thick, solid legs. At the back, someone had bored a small circle out to push electrical wires through for her computer or stereo. In the corner by the wall stood a stack of organizational trays, and beside it, a blue coffee mug filled with black ballpoint pens, the clear ones she relied on when writing by hand, and several sharpened number twos for early drafts, just the way she liked. She laughed aloud through her tears, pulling herself to her feet.

She looked up and studied the shelves, counting, marveling at the neatness and the symmetry and design. She placed her hand flat on the shelf closest to where she stood and closed her eyes, drawing a shaky breath. After a moment, she wet her lips, tucked her hair behind her ears, and moved to the armoire, recognizing it as a Kim product immediately, throwing open the doors to discover a system of side shelves, three drawers at the bottom, and a hanging bar with hooks in the back behind it. She touched the clothes hanging there, bending down and opening the second drawer to find clean pajamas right where they should be. She reached to the back of the cabinet and loosed her bathrobe, hugging it all to her chest a moment. As she closed the doors, she noticed the picture frame hanging just to the left of the armoire. She tossed the pjs and robe onto the bed and stepped closer.

In a thin silver frame, perfectly matted, was a photograph of Rory and Lorelai, their arms about each other, their mouths open with laughter, standing in front of the gazebo in the town square. Above it, a photo of Rory and Lane, turned away from the camera, their heads together over a magazine, grinning. Below, Rory and Lorelai sitting on the curb in front of an Irish pub, shoulder to shoulder, smiling wearily as they waited for Bono. Rory walked to the next wall. Rory and Paris at their graduation from Chilton… Rory and her grandparents at Christmas, by the tree… Rory and Lorelai blowing kisses to a statue of Winston Churchill… Sookie and a ten-year-old Rory, leaning over a mixing bowl in the old Independence kitchen… Rory and Lane in their pilgrim wear at the Horn of Plenty… Rory, Paris, Madeline, and Louise on spring break… Rory, Lorelai, and Lane dressed for the Rocky Horror Picture Show… Rory and Christopher outside the house, his arm around her shoulders… Four blank frames hung in different places around the room, a Post-It note on one: "to be determined."

She found the last picture on the shelf above her new desk, a black and white she had never seen before of nineteen-year-old Lorelai, standing on the wooden footbridge by the lake, Rory in her arms. They looked each other in the eyes, smiling. Rory held her mother's face in her pudgy, three-year-old hands, her eyes both serious and delighted. Lorelai held Rory tightly against her hip, looking at her with wide, adoring eyes. Rory reached out for it and held it in her hands a long while, her eyes welling over as she studied the picture, the way they both seemed lit from within. She carried it with her to the bed and placed it on top of the duvet. She slipped out of her traveling clothes and into her pajamas, settling herself among the pillows on her bed, the picture beside her. She looked around the room one final time and turned her cheek to the pillow, whispering, "thank you, Mom."

Rory dozed lightly, a sleep like the ones she remembered from childhood Christmas Eves, one that was just on the edge of waking, waiting. She didn't know how long she had slept when she heard water running in the kitchen and her eyes fluttered open. The light behind the new curtains was weak and dim. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, feeling the strain of travel in every inch of skin and muscle and bone. She pushed herself off the bed.

"Mom?" she called, closing the small distance between kitchen and bed.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!"

Luke stood at the sink in his jeans and bare feet, the coffee carafe full of water in his hand. At Rory's voice he started and turned, his jaw falling slack and his eyes widening. The color drained from his face. His hand fell to his side and water poured over the floor. "Ah, shit," he barked, putting the empty carafe on the counter and reaching for a roll of paper towels.

Rory immediately rushed to his side, grabbing a kitchen towel that hung over the back of one of the chairs at the table. She knelt, dropping the towel into the puddle.

"Hi, Luke," she said sheepishly, averting her eyes.

He squatted near the floor, balancing his weight on the balls of his toes. "Hi, Rory," he said, his jaw tense. "You startled me."

"Likewise," she said, smiling slightly.

Luke looked over her shoulder towards her room, realization dawning. "Wait, you're home," he said. "You're early."

"I couldn't wait," she said. "What time is it?"

"About seven thirty," he said. "Kinda late, but—"

"Luke, please tell me that you're making coffee. And, please?"

Rory rose at the sound of her mother's voice, tossing the kitchen towel in the sink.

"The next time you feel the urge to be kind and get out of bed slowly so you don't wake me up? Just roll me all the way over, don't be nice about it, because your way just wakes me up so I can't go back to sleep again," Lorelai finished, trudging down the hallway, knuckling her eyes.

She stopped dead at the end of the hall, her eyes wide. "Rory?" she said, her voice breaking. Her arms hung loosely at her sides for a fraction of a second before she threw them open and took two great, sweeping strides towards her daughter, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. Rory put her arms around Lorelai, squeezing her tightly. They rocked each other for a moment, silent. Lorelai pulled back and put a hand to Rory's face.

"You're home," she said softly. Her eyes were bright. "Aw, babe, you have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"No," Rory said, feeling tearful again, "I think I do."

"You're home!" Lorelai cried, grinning. She held Rory loosely in her arms and they began to jump up and down together, laughing and crying, as Lorelai chanted "you're home, you're home, you're home, you're home."

After a moment, she stopped, put her hands on Rory's shoulders, and made her step back. "Okay, Mommy needs to catch her breath a second here, and take a look at you." She took Rory's hands and held her at arm's length. "You look good, babe. You've got some color, and you're all svelte and European and gorgeous," she said. "You look good, Rory," she said again, softly. "How are you doing, sweets?"

Rory swung her hands in her mother's, smiling shyly. She looked Lorelai in the eye as she spoke. "I'm better," she said.

Lorelai's brow creased and she bit her lips together, holding in another flood of happy tears. "Really?"

"Really."

"Really, really?"

"Really, really," Rory said.

"Really, really, really?" Lorelai asked.

Rory rolled her eyes and put her arm around Lorelai's waist, slouching slightly and resting her head on her mother's shoulder. "Oh, Mom," she said.

Lorelai smoothed Rory's hair back with her hand and sighed. "I missed you, babe. It feels like you were gone _forever._"

Luke had turned away slightly as they greeted each other, trying to give them a marginal moment of privacy. As the Lorelais stood side by side in the kitchen, arms around each other, he finished mopping up the water and making the coffee. Lorelai watched him, a look of happiness on her face that caused his throat to tighten when he caught it.

She turned to Rory suddenly. "Hey, you're _early,_" she said. "When did you get here?"

"Around two?"

"Why didn't you wake me? Why didn't you _call_ me?" Lorelai asked.

"I tried, but your cell was off and the machine picked up here," Rory said. "Where were you?"

"The machine picked up?" Lorelai asked, looking at Luke. "We were here. Why would the machine pick up?"

He cleared his throat. "Probably because you turned the ringer off after your dad called for the third time," he said. He pointed towards the upstairs bedroom. "Yeah, I'm going to go put a shirt on?"

Lorelai watched him go, feeling Rory's eyes on her. When he was safely around the corner, they turned to each other and began giggling. Rory shook her head at Lorelai, amused. Lorelai only narrowed her eyes in response, then smirked and shrugged, giving in. She sighed.

"Oh, Rory, honey, I'm sorry there was no one here to greet you when you came home. I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday—we were working on some things—"

"I saw," Rory said, smiling. "I love it."

"You do? Oh, babe, I'm so glad. But we must have just lost track of time, and then I thought you'd be sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb you, and my cell's been missing for three days and I'm going insane without it—"

"Just now?" Rory teased.

Lorelai shrugged. "I like to do it over every once in a while, keep the experience fresh. But seriously, I feel terrible. I'm Paul Dooley in _Sixteen Candles_—but with better hair and obviously, without the gut."

"Obviously," Rory said. "Don't feel terrible. It was sort of nice to sneak in and wake up to surprise you."

"Well," Lorelai said, putting her arm around her daughter and walking her to a chair at the table, "I was surprised." She pointed at the ceiling. "He's giving us a moment." She studied Rory a moment. "You do look better," she said, tilting her head to one side, "and dare I say it? Older?"

"No!" Rory intoned. "No way!"

"Older as in mature," Lorelai said, her voice wheedling. "Sophisticated."

"Mom. I'm wearing Hello! Kitty pajamas."

"Sophisticated with a sense of the whimsical," Lorelai said.

Rory smiled. "I missed you," she said. "My crazy mom."

They heard Luke's step on the stairs, purposely heavy. He entered the kitchen in full Luke regalia, his hat firmly on his head. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. "So," he said. He pointed over his shoulder to the front door. "I gotta go to work. I'm late."

"Wait," Rory said, rising. "Stay there a sec."

"Like mother, like daughter," Lorelai drawled.

Rory disappeared in her room a moment. Lorelai stayed seated, yawning. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips in Luke's direction, making loud kissing noises.

"Ah, geez, would you cut that out?" he groaned.

Rory appeared with a flat package wrapped in brown paper in her hands. She thrust it at Luke. "I got this for you," she said. "To make up for last time, and—I just, I wanted to get you something."

Luke looked at the package a moment, his expression surprised and touched. He lifted one hand to tear the wrapping, but Rory stopped him. "Wait, don't open it now—open it when you go back to the diner."

He nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Rory," he said, careful to keep his voice level.

She gestured towards her bedroom. "I know you must have done most of that," she said. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah, well, huh," Luke said, looking everywhere but in Rory's direction. Lorelai could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "Good."

"Thank you, Luke," she said. "Really."

Lorelai sat watching them delightedly, covering her mouth with her hands.

Luke cleared his throat again, worked his jaw. "All right," he said, his chin tucked to his chest. "I have to go, so I will see you both later." He ventured a look at Rory, then Lorelai. "You coming for breakfast?"

"Abso-tootin'-lutely," Lorelai said, rising. "And we expect the works."

"I wouldn't have anything less," Luke said. "Okay. I'm going."

"Hey," Lorelai said, shuffling over to him. Rory stepped aside, ducking into her room and peeking around the doorjamb. Lorelai leaned up on her toes and kissed Luke lightly. "See you," she said.

He turned to go and paused, stepping back a moment. "It's good to have you home, Rory."

She smiled. "I'm glad to be back."

When Luke had gone, Lorelai rose and joined Rory in the door of her room, pausing only an instant before throwing herself on the bed. Rory climbed on beside her and they settled themselves among the pillows, Rory holding onto Lorelai's arm, her chin on her mother's shoulder.

"Do you really like it?" Lorelai asked.

"It's perfect," Rory told her. "I love it."

Lorelai closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. "Good. I was afraid—I didn't know, maybe the change would be too much?"

Rory shook her head. "It's exactly right. And everything is—it's just perfect," she said again, "the pens, the desk, the shelves, the duvet, the colors, the _pictures,_ Mom, it's just—this is amazing." She wiggled a little and reached for the picture she had found hours earlier. "Who took this?"

Lorelai held the picture in her hands carefully, as though it would break. "I love this picture. This was—oh, it was October, maybe? Just before or just after your birthday, I can't remember. There was a fair going on in town—"

"Shocking!"

"—and there was this old man, this teeny little man with this ancient camera, and he walked around all day just taking pictures. He took my name and my address and that February, he sent me a copy of the picture with a thank you letter. He'd won some sort of contest with it. He said he'd been entering the contest every year since he was thirty and he'd never won before. He said our faces were a blessing."

Rory squeezed Lorelai's arm. "That's a good story."

"It is. Hey," she said, "where's your grandmother?"

"New York, still. She's coming down today."

"How is she?"

Rory looked down, shook her head. "She's—I don't know. She's not herself."

"Oh, man," Lorelai said. "Have you ever seen those really annoying commercials with the women sitting next to these really decrepit looking elderly people on couches, talking about how they're afraid their parents are going to fall down stairs or forget to take their medication or just shrivel up and die if they are exposed to sunlight or water?"

Rory giggled. "And the women are always wearing turtlenecks and fuscia lipstick?"

"Those are the ones," Lorelai said. "And then at some point in the commercial, someone says that 'there's a time for parents to take care of children and a time for children to take care of their parents.' Not that I ever let my parents take care of me, or anything, but is that where I'm at in my life? Am I that old?"

"Sophisticated," Rory told her.

"With a sense of the whimsical," she said. "You must be exhausted, babe. You want to get some sleep, go get breakfast later?"

"No, I'm actually not that tired anymore," Rory said. "Just achy."

"I hear hot showers and lots of coffee are good for aches," Lorelai told her.

"Coffee, huh? Who would have thought it?"

"Who, indeed?" Lorelai asked, sitting up and crawling off the bed. She looked at Rory. "I think this trip was good for you, babe. I can just tell. You look—you look whole again."

Rory curled up in the center of the bed. "I feel it," she said. "I mean, there are still things—there's still a lot—I don't know quite how to say it."

"I understand. We don't have to talk about it now, if you don't want," Lorelai said. "There's time, plenty of it."

Rory nodded. "Thanks, Mom. For everything."

"You never need to thank me. Adoring praise is all I ask for," Lorelai replied.

Rory closed her eyes as Lorelai went to the kitchen and prepared a cup of coffee for them both. She smiled to herself, hearing Lorelai mutter, "sweet holy mother of mercy, this is good coffee." She stretched out and rose, picking up the picture and walking to replace it on the shelf where she found it. She looked around the room one last time before joining her mother in the kitchen.

Rory Gilmore was home.


	34. Growing Together, Apart

Growing Together, Apart

The package Rory had given Luke sat on the passenger seat of his truck as he drove into town. When he arrived at his place, he remained in the truck a moment, staring at his gift, gripping the steering wheel. He took the keys out of the ignition, reached over, and carefully picked up the box with both hands. He carried it out in front of him as he walked through the diner and up the stairs to his apartment, ignoring the customers he passed on his way. He placed it on his kitchen table and again stood staring, his hands on his hips. After a moment, he sat and gingerly began to remove the paper.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find when he lifted the lid of the impossibly thin box, but it was not several rows balled-up tissue. He lifted one and began to unravel it: a glass chess pawn, colored a purply blue, the color of midnight. He rolled it in the palm of his hand, examining the curves, the cut of the glass. He held it up to the light: it was perfect, clear, flawless. He stood it beside the box and reached for another tissue ball, this one concealing another pawn, but colorless, though just as expertly made. As he unwrapped each piece, small sections of the chessboard beneath—also wrapped firmly in tissue paper—became visible. When he had all the pieces lined up in rows on the table, he lifted the board from the bottom of the box and ripped the tissue off. He set the chessboard on the table and stood over it, peering down, able to see the scratches and nicks on the surface of the wood clearly through the glass.

"Huh," he said.

Smiling slightly to himself, Luke lined up the pieces on the appropriate squares. When they were all just where they should be, pawns facing off, rooks and bishops standing guard, king and queen regally waiting at either end, he squatted down until he was eye level with the table and studied the board and pieces together. He shook his head, confounded and delighted. He put out his hand and slid one of the clear pawns forward two spaces. Carefully, he rotated the board and cocked an eyebrow, considering his next move. He pushed a blue pawn out a single space.

Luke pointed at the clear side. "I'm gonna kick your ass," he said. With that, he turned on his heel and jogged back downstairs to the diner.

* * *

Emily had lain awake most of the night, her hands folded over her stomach, staring at the ceiling. The phone rang at seven fifteen for her wake up call and she ordered a breakfast of fruit compote, dry wheat toast, and a strong pot of coffee. She ate in her dressing gown, sitting on an uncomfortable chair by the window, watching what she could see of the city through the window. When she finished her breakfast, she began to ready herself to leave. As she showered, dressed, made up her face and arranged her hair, her movements were methodical, deliberate. At exactly nine o'clock, she rang the front desk to ask if her driver had yet arrived. By nine fifteen she was seated behind the passenger seat, her hands clasped primly over her knee. The driver turned to her.

"And where to this morning, Mrs. Gilmore?"

She hesitated before answering, dropping her eyes and turning to the window as she gave him the directions.

* * *

Rory and Lorelai had dawdled over coffee in the kitchen. Lorelai leaned forward on her elbows, holding her mug beneath her chin.

"So, what was that you gave Luke before?"

"A present."

"What sort of present?"

"Just a present," Rory said.

"You're not going to tell me what it is?" Lorelai asked with affected hurt.

"You're going to see it, eventually," Rory told her. "You'll find out what it is then."

"But why won't you tell me _now_?" Lorelai whined.

Rory rose and rinsed her cup in the sink. "The same reason I wouldn't let Luke open it here," she said.

Lorelai turned in her chair and followed Rory with her eyes as she walked to the refrigerator and peeked inside. "Yes, but I don't know what reason that is, either."

"Because it's embarrassing."

Lorelai smiled softly. "Oh, Rory. That's just plain silly." Rory shrugged. "Okay, so it was flat, so… Is it a mirror? Are you trying to tell Luke that his personal hygiene leaves something to be desired? Or is it a cutting board? Or a—a—a book? A jigsaw puzzle? I'm running out of flat things here, Rory."

Rory closed the refrigerator door and leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek. "You'll see," Rory said. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Oh, come on! Don't leave me hanging!" Lorelai said, rising and following her to the bedroom.

Rory stopped her at the door, putting her hands on Lorelai's shoulders. She turned her around to face the kitchen again. "A little privacy here, please?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes and walked back to the coffeemaker. "You've been spending too much time with Emily," she grumbled. "I am your mother. I've already seen you naked too many times to count, and—"

"Patience is a virtue," Rory singsonged as she walked past in her bathrobe.

"You know what I'd like to do to the person that came up with that expression? Give him a couple cups of really good, strong coffee, and then lock him out of the bathroom for eternity. Then we'll see if patience is a virtue," Lorelai said darkly.

* * *

While Rory waited for Lorelai to be ready, she walked around her room, studying each of the pictures closely. She wondered what to put in the four empty frames—if it were going to be an accurate representation of her life, as it seemed to be thus far, she'd have to put up pictures of herself with Jess and with Dean. It wasn't an appealing thought. She had the pictures, stuffed at the bottom of a box somewhere, and perhaps some day she'd put them in an album where they belonged and she'd be able to look back without the same stinging pain she felt now whenever she thought of both of them. As far as ruins went, she thought, they were barely weather-beaten yet.

She retrieved her book bag and fished out her journal, searching out a place for it in the room. The desk had no drawers, which Rory didn't mind; she considered desk drawers the receptacle for things she wasn't currently using or had used but no longer needed, like old class notebooks and already graded essays. She kneeled on the bed and put the journal on the shelf above the headboard. She felt foolish smiling at it, as though it were an old friend, but its very presence in the room was a comfort.

Rory wandered out to the living room. Luke's toolbox was on the floor by the hall table. "Hi, Bert," she said. The house was a mess, boxes everywhere. Rory stood with her hands on her hips, clucking her tongue. "I go away for six weeks, Mom, and look at what happens."

"It's your stuff!" Lorelai called from her bedroom.

"What stuff?" Rory asked, stooping. She pulled the flaps of a box open and shrieked. "My books! My books! Oh, I love my books, I missed my books." She pulled a fat volume out and hugged it to her chest. "At last, you will have homes appropriate for your wonderfulness."

Lorelai stood at the top of the stairs, brushing her hair into a ponytail. "And this, ladies and gentlemen, is exhibit A through Z of why I did not let Luke put your books on any of the shelves."

"What are you talking about?" Rory asked.

"Like many other things in this life, Rory, you are very weird about your books. You probably have some bizarre, arcane shelving system that mere plebeians like myself could never understand," Lorelai said.

"You are not a plebeian, Mom," Rory said, flopping onto the couch. She arranged the pillows under her head and noticed a flannel shirt draped over the back of the couch. "Are you ready yet?"

Lorelai bounced down the stairs, grinning. "Ready and starved." She held her hands out and pulled Rory off the couch, putting her arm around her daughter as they walked to the door. "Have I told you how glad I am that you're back? And how great you look?"

Rory nodded twice. "You did," she said. She stopped at the front door. "Mom? Before we go out, will you tell me…?"

Lorelai looked Rory in the eye and sighed. "He's still with her," she said.

Rory bit her lip and nodded again, crossing her arms over her stomach. "Okay."

"That's really all I know. There hasn't been a whole lot of talk," Lorelai said, shifting her weight on her feet. She dropped her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I didn't know whether or not to tell you this—"

"I'll be okay," Rory said.

Lorelai raised her eyes again. "He came by here a few weeks ago."

"What did he want?"

She shrugged. "For me to talk to you. He was confused, he was upset, he was looking for someone to help him out, but—"

"You said no."

"Of course I said no," Lorelai said. "Whatever he had to say, he has to say it to you or Lindsay; it wasn't appropriate for me to get involved." She looked at her daughter, worried. "Should I not have told you? Are you—"

Rory sighed. "Mom, it's all right. It's better. I needed to know."

Lorelai rubbed Rory's arm. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm—I can deal," Rory said. "I'm fine."

"You really are," Lorelai said. "Come on. Let's go to Luke's."

"Speaking of Luke," Rory began as they stepped outside.

She didn't get further than that. Babette was outside next door, watering some flowers and talking to her gnomes. The moment the Lorelais stepped outside, Babette was on her way over, chattering as she walked.

"Rory! Honey! You're home! Ah, look at you!" she cried, walking with open arms. "You look fabulous! Morey and I been counting off the days till you got home! Wasn't expecting you till this afternoon—oh, Rory, honey, you should have seen the goings-on at this place while you were gone, people comin' in, people goin' out, hammerin' and saws goin' all hours of the day and night. Crazy!"

"Hi, Babette," Rory managed to say, smiling broadly. "Have you seen the room yet? It's beautiful."

"Oh, not yet, sugar, but I'll come by, don't you doubt it. I gotta go before I drown my pansies! Come over later and tell me all about your trip, you gorgeous girl! Lorelai, tell Luke thanks for fixing the squirt gun for the hose, it's been workin' like a dream!"

Lorelai covered her face with her hands as they walked away, shaking with laughter. "Dirty!" she gasped. "Oh, babe, I hope you're ready. It's going to be the question game for you for the next few weeks until school starts."

"Oh, I don't mind," Rory said. "So, anyway, as I was saying. Speaking of Luke."

"Were we speaking of Luke?" Lorelai asked.

"I believe we were," Rory told her. "It seems like things are going well."

Lorelai tucked Rory's arm under hers. "It's been—let's just say it's been a very eventful six weeks." Rory watched her; she seemed to gather her thoughts a moment. "When you left for your trip, I didn't know that things were going to be like this for me and Luke. I didn't—" She stopped. "Do you remember that conversation we had outside the diner when I first told you I thought I might be dating Luke?" Rory nodded. "And you said that if I'm with Luke then I'm _with_ Luke?"

"I remember," Rory said. "You were a big, dopey smitten kitten."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "I was _not."_

"Oh, you were, too."

She shook her head. "I am, you know, _with_ Luke. The past two months have been—they've been hard. Good stuff's happened, bad stuff's happened. And he's been—he's been Luke." She squeezed Rory's arm. "I need to know how you feel about that. I know this morning was weird with him in the kitchen and him being there when you woke up and—"

"Mom," Rory said, pulling her to a stop. "You don't need my permission."

Lorelai's mouth fell open. "I'm not asking your _permission_," she said. "I just—I want to know that you're okay with everything, what you think, if this is just too weird—"

"Mom," she said again. "I'm not sixteen anymore. I mean, yeah, it is a little weird because he's _Luke_, and everything, but—it doesn't matter if I'm okay with it."

"It matters to me," Lorelai said firmly.

Rory gave her a sad smile. "I am okay with it. I might have to get _used_ to it, but it's not—you don't have to worry about me."

"I am your mother, Rory. I will always worry about you."

They began to walk again, and Rory leaned against Lorelai slightly. "And I think it's great. You seem—you look happy."

Lorelai kissed the top of her daughter's head. "I am happy."

When they hit Main Street they were stopped every few feet or so by another person welcoming Rory back home. Lorelai rolled her eyes when they had passed Miss Patty's, who had folded Rory into a tight hug and cooed that Rory looked too grown up. "You'd think you'd gone to war and come home with the enemy's head on a stick," Lorelai said.

"I did. Didn't I show you? We're going to keep it in the front yard next to the mail box."

There was a table waiting for them at Luke's. Lorelai dropped into her chair, watching Rory as she sat across from her. She seemed pale suddenly, slightly shaky. Lorelai tipped her head to the side, her expression concerned, questioning. Rory only shrugged in response and yawned.

Luke was at the table quickly, pouring them both coffee. Lorelai opened her mouth to order but he held up his hand.

"It's taken care of," he said.

Rory rested her chin on her hands and looked up at look. "Is Lane here today?"

"She's coming in a little later," Luke said. "Half an hour, maybe. I'll be right back with your food."

Rory sipped her coffee. "Oh, this is good. I don't care what anyone says, Luke's coffee wins over espresso hands down." She put the mug down and looked at her mother levelly. "Six weeks really did feel like a long time."

"Good long? Bad long?" Lorelai asked.

"Neither," Rory said. "Just… long. I needed it."

"So, good long," Lorelai replied.

"I guess," Rory conceded. She looked around. "Oh, my God," she said.

Lorelai followed her line of sight. "Woo, boy," she cried.

Luke set a plate in front of the both of them. "Chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream, a side of bacon and sausage."

Lorelai pointed at Rory's plate. "She got more!" she cried.

He gave her a hard look. "She's the one who's been gone."

Rory stuck her tongue out at Lorelai. "This looks amazing, Luke."

He shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. He seemed to hesitate a moment, unsure of whether to stay or go. Lorelai watched him, her brow furrowed. Rory had already begun to cut into her pancakes. Luke reached out and placed his hand on the crown of Rory's head. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. His own were bright as he spoke.

"Thank you," he said.

Rory lifted one shoulder, ducking her head slightly, shy. "I'm glad you like it."

Lorelai stared at them as Luke nodded a few times, took a breath, and walked back to his place behind the counter. He took the pencil from behind his ear and began scribbling on an ordering pad, his chin tucked to his chest. Lorelai looked at her daughter.

"Well?" she asked. Rory shoved a fork loaded with pancake and strawberry into her mouth and shrugged. Lorelai narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. "Very mysterious." She picked up her own fork and began to eat. "So," she said, "tell me everything. What you saw, what you bought, where you went, where you stayed, what you ate, I want to hear."

Luke kept to his usual business, taking orders, handing out meals, disappearing into the kitchen (or upstairs to his apartment) for moments at a time, but he kept his eyes focused most on the Lorelais, talking and laughing as they ate, draining their coffee cups. Without having to be asked, he refilled their mugs when he saw them getting low but didn't interrupt their conversation. Lorelai would look up at him and smile as he did, her face flushed and alight with happiness. Rory, he thought, seemed some how quieter, though her conversation with her mother wasn't any less. It was something else, he thought, though he couldn't think how to phrase it, exactly, something within.

He was taking an order at the counter when Lane burst in the front door, apologies for her lateness falling out of her mouth as she hurried towards him. Without speaking, he indicated towards Rory and Lorelai's table, nodding his head in their direction. Lane turned to look over her shoulder, confused. Rory sat, her arms folded across the tabletop; she raised one hand and waved slightly.

"Oh, my God!" Lane cried. "Oh, my God! You're home!" She looked back at Luke. "She's home!"

Rory pushed her chair back and crossed the diner to give her friend a hug. "Hi," she said.

"How _are _you?" Lane asked, stepping back. "Are you taller?"

"I don't think so. Do I look taller?"

Lane tipped her head to one side. "I think you look taller." She grinned. "I can't believe you're back!"

"I know!" Rory grabbed Lane's hand and turned to Luke. "Can I borrow her for a few minutes?"

"Take your time," he said.

"Mom," Rory said, turning.

Lorelai waved her hand. "Go. I'll meet you back at the house."

* * *

The house was empty when Emily arrived, earlier than she'd planned. With a sigh, she told the driver to unload the bags in the driveway. Crossing her arms over her chest, she surveyed her surroundings. All the travel of the past weeks and this was where she'd ended up, she thought. When the driver had gone, she leaned one hip against the tallest and heaviest suitcase, waiting.

* * *

After Rory and Lane stepped outside, Lorelai finished her coffee, lost in thought. Rory was right: she was fine, she was better, she was herself again. _But,_ she thought. _But._ She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pushed a curl behind her ear. She rested her chin on her shoulder, jutting out her lower lip. She toyed with her fork, drawing patterns in the remains of whipped cream and syrup on her plate. She felt oddly blank, a feeling approaching let down, unsettled. She looked at Rory's vacant seat a moment.

Luke bounded down the stairs, catching her eye. He immediately strode to the table, a thoughtful, amused expression on his face.

"What were you doing upstairs?" she asked.

"Just, you know, nothing," he told her, clearing the table.

"Oh, that."

He paused. "Everything okay?"

Lorelai put her palm to her forehead, nodding. "Yeah, I'm just—everything's fine."

"You sure?" he asked, placing the stacked plates back on the table, leaning down.

"Do you have a minute?"

He looked around. "Can you wait until Lane gets back?"

She rose. "You know, I should probably just get home, and it's really—"

"Lorelai," he said. He reached out one hand, just touched his fingertips to her waist, his eyes worried. "Just hang on, okay?" Lorelai closed her eyes, nodding. "Go upstairs," he said. "I'll meet you up there."

* * *

Rory and Lane ran across the street to the square, laughing as they threw themselves onto a park bench.

"So, tell me everything," Lane said. "How are you doing?"

Rory looked her friend in the eye as she answered. "I am better than I was when I left."

"Meaning…?" Lane asked, leaning forward.

"Meaning that I know why everything happened," she said. "I think I sort of figured myself out a little bit." She tapped a finger to her temple. "Belated housecleaning, you know?"

Lane nodded. "I do. You look better."

"God, how did I look before?"

"Sad," Lane said, "and tired. But you look better now." She grabbed Rory's shoulders and shook her slightly. "I'm so glad you're back!"

Rory giggled. "Me too. I can't believe I have to go back to school in a couple of weeks, too—I feel like there's still so much to do. Have you been working a lot?"

"Every day," Lane said. "But I don't have anything else to do except practice, so it's okay. Plus, money's always good."

"Always good," Rory agreed. "Dave didn't come home after all?"

"He got into that summer music program at the last minute—some guy got kicked out when he was busted for pot. Dave said he was really lucky to get the spot, so—"

"So you were really nice and told him you were happy for him?" Rory said.

Lane nodded. "When really I wanted to pull the phone out of the wall and throw it at someone. But we talk a lot, and he's going to be home for Thanksgiving. And it's probably better in some ways because Mama and I have just started really getting along again."

"Oh, Lane, that's so great!"

"She lets me come home for dinner two times a week and she always sends me home with leftovers for the boys," Lane said. "Of course, they don't actually _eat_ the leftovers, but they've created some very impressive tofu sculptures."

"Forward advancement of the arts," Rory said. "I approve."

Lane looked over her shoulder to the diner. "I should go to work, I was already late."

"Come by later, okay? I've got stuff for you."

"I love stuff," Lane said.

When they returned to the diner, Rory leaned against the counter as Lane tied a short apron over her jeans. She poured coffee into two to-go cups for Rory and Lorelai. Luke emerged from the kitchen as she did, two plates laden with food in his hands.

"Lane, I have to go upstairs a minute. Take this to the couple in the corner?"

"Hey, Luke? My mom didn't go home yet, did she?" Rory asked. "We didn't see her leave."

He averted his eyes. "She went up to use the bathroom. She'll be back in a sec."

As he mounted the stairs, Rory and Lane gave each other amused, knowing looks. "Looks like a tryst," Lane said, walking away with the plates.

"Are they coupley in public?" Rory asked her.

Lane rounded the counter and reached for the coffee pot to give out refills. "Not really," she said, "unless you count the time they made out in the square and Taylor threatened to have them arrested for it."

"No!"

"And then Taylor started telling people he was going to fine Luke for littering—"

"Littering?" Rory asked.

"Something to do with Chinese food?" Lane said, shrugging. "But Kirk went ballistic about it and cleaned everything up, talking about Easter eggs the whole time. It was weird."

"I must agree," Rory said, laughing. "Kissing in the square. Luke and my mom. How weird is that?"

"Those crazy kids," Lane said.

* * *

Lorelai was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the chess set, when Luke opened the door to his apartment.

"Is that what Rory gave you?" she asked him.

He pulled a chair up beside her. "That's what Rory gave me."

"Huh," Lorelai said. "What, are you playing a game against yourself?"

"What's going on?" he asked her.

Lorelai turned to look at him, raised her eyes to his face. His eyes, the set of his mouth, the slight furrow of his forehead—she could see he was studying her, at once concerned, irritated, and earnest. She smiled sadly at him.

"It's really nothing," she told him. "I'm probably just a little emotion with Rory being home."

"Lorelai."

She rolled her eyes, leaning forward and resting her forehead on his shoulder. "Luke," she replied. She felt his hand, heavy on the base of her neck, kneading her skin. She lifted her head and kissed him. "I'm okay. Really."

Luke pulled her to her feet and walked her to the door. "Okay," he said. "If you say so."

"I say so."

* * *

The Lorelais walked home, sipping their coffee.

"So," Rory said. "Making out in the square?"

Lorelai groaned. "Ah, yes. In your absence, your mother has become the scandal queen of Stars Hollow. Between Jason's infamous speech at the town meeting and my less-than-thought-out liaison with Luke in the gazebo, I have had the gossip mill churning all by my lonesome this summer." She stopped, realized what she'd said and wished the words were solid that she might reach out and take them back, cram them back down her throat.

"So, Scandal Queen, do you get a crown? What about a cape?" Rory asked, her voice light.

Lorelai looked at her sidelong. She put her arm around her daughter's shoulders, grinning. _That's my girl,_ she thought. "Of _course_ I get a crown. And a scepter."

"Fancy."

"Luke is, of course, my jester," she continued. "And Jason—"

"Can we just go back to calling him Digger? He doesn't deserve a real name," Rory said. "Not after what he did to you."

Lorelai sighed. "You know, he might have done me a favor, in the long run."

"What? How?"

She was quiet a few paces. "I had to look at myself, really look at myself after that. It's like everything else in life, babe. When the bad shit happens, you have to learn from it."

Rory leaned against her mother, her steps slow and deliberate. "What did you learn?"

"I learned about Luke," Lorelai said. "And I needed that."

They were silent a while as they walked.

"Mom? Thank you for the journal." Rory toyed with her coffee cup. "It was—it helped."

"I'm glad," Lorelai said. Again, they fell silent. "So, the chess set? Can you explain that to me?"

Rory hesitated. "You can't tell Luke I told you."

"Ah, okay," Lorelai said, puzzled.

She took a breath. "Do you remember when I was in middle school—I guess I was eleven or twelve—and sometimes after school I'd go to Luke's and do my homework before dinner?"

"I guess," Lorelai said.

"Well, I did, on the days I didn't go to the inn. I don't really remember how it started, but sometimes, Luke would pull out this old chessboard and set up all the pieces for me, and he taught me how to play. He'd just do it between working—he'd go wait on someone and then he'd come and take his turn and go away while I took mine." She paused, laughing as she remembered. "Sometimes, we wouldn't finish the game before you came, and the next day when he set up the pieces he'd put them all back where they were the last time we left off. I have no idea how he remembered where they all went."

"He taught you to play chess? Why didn't you tell me this? Why didn't _he_ tell me this?" Lorelai asked, taken slightly aback.

Rory shrugged. "I thought you'd make fun of us, and he thought you'd _really_ make fun of us, so we made a pact not to tell you about it. Besides, you two weren't very close back then."

"I guess we weren't," she allowed. "And you two kept that pact for what, eight years now?"

"Please don't tell him. It was fun, then, like a secret club, or something, and after we didn't play anymore it was just a nice thing that he did for me, you know?"

Lorelai shook her head, marveling. "I won't tell him. I just—I never would have guessed." She smiled to herself. She looked towards the house as they neared the end of the drive. "Oh, my sainted aunt. Mom?"

Rory's face broke into a wide smile. "Grandma!" she cried.

The two girls hurried to the house. Emily sat in the porch swing, her hands folded in her lap. She stood as they approached, her smile wan.

"Lorelai," she said.

Lorelai hung back as her daughter and mother hugged each other in greeting. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "Hi, Mom. This is a surprise."

"Is it?" Emily asked. "We were to arrive today, weren't we?"

"I just mean, I'm surprised to see you here, and with all your things," Lorelai said.

"Rory left her things with me in New York. I thought she might be needing her clothes," Emily said. "Am I allowed inside, or should we continue this discussion out here on the porch? I am partial to the swing here, I do so enjoy the—"

Lorelai sighed. "Mom, would you like to come in and have something cold to drink?"

"Why, thank you, Lorelai. That would be lovely."

Lorelai closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Rory led her grandmother into the house. "I'll just grab the bags," Lorelai told them.

When she had finished hefting the luggage into the living room, Lorelai found Rory and Emily in the kitchen, sitting in companionable silence. She went to the refrigerator and helped herself to a bottle of water, determinedly keeping her mouth shut. Rory looked at her, silently scolding.

"So, Mom," Lorelai said. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Lorelai, thank you for asking. And yourself?"

"You know me, Mom, I'm always good," Lorelai told her. "How was Italy?"

Emily raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Would you like me to speak for the entire country, Lorelai?"

"Grandma, come see what Mom did to my room while we were gone," Rory said abruptly, taking Emily by the hand. She pulled her grandmother to her bedroom door and gestured. "Isn't it great?"

Emily said nothing for a beat. She tossed a look at Lorelai over her shoulder. "You did this?"

"Well, I had help," Lorelai replied, "but the basic concept was me, yes."

Emily ventured inside and studied a shelf closely. She ran her hand over the desk, smiling as she turned to look at her girls. "This is quite something. Where on earth did you find these pieces?"

"Luke made them," Rory said. "He made everything except the armoire, but he did the inside over."

"I helped," Lorelai said petulantly.

"And Mom made the curtains and all the bedding," Rory went on, shaking her head at her mother. "And picked out all the pictures."

Emily seemed to notice the photographs. She had been leaning over the headboard, studying the design. She looked up and was met with a picture of herself, her arm around Rory, Richard beside her. Her eyes faltered and she moved around the bed to examine another photo.

"Did Luke really do all this?" she asked.

Lorelai sat on the foot of the bed. "He did. Dad and Kirk came over and helped him hang the shelves, but everything else, he designed and made."

"He must be spending a lot of time here," Emily remarked.

"Yes, he has been," her daughter replied, her voice level.

"It is awfully nice of him to do something like this for you, and for Rory," Emily continued.

Rory bugged her eyes out at Lorelai, jerking her head towards Emily. _Tell her_, she telegraphed. Lorelai smacked her palm to her forehead.

"Well, he does a lot of things around here for us," Lorelai said.

"I see."

"And—"

"And?" Emily said, turning to look at Lorelai.

She looked at the ceiling as she spoke. "And we've been seeing each other," she said. "Dating."

"Really?" Emily replied, and carried on with her slow revolution about the room. "For how long?"

Lorelai squeezed her eyes shut, her expression pained. "Almost two months now, I guess."

"Two months, _really_," Emily said, as though it was the most fascinating revelation possible.

"Really," she replied.

Emily paused at the armoire to peek inside. "Isn't that lovely," she said. Lorelai wasn't sure if she meant Luke or the armoire but was afraid to ask. "He does very nice work." She shut the cabinet doors and stood beside Rory. "You have both done a beautiful job."

Lorelai stared at her. "Thank you," she said, at last.

She looked a question at Rory as they followed Emily out of the room. Rory shrugged, spreading her hands. Emily wandered down the hall to the living room and seated herself on the couch.

"Hey, Rory, hon, why don't you take your stuff back to your room and start unpacking a little while I talk to your grandmother?" Lorelai said.

Rory nodded. She kissed Emily's cheek and took her suitcase by the handle, dragging it back to her bedroom. Lorelai sat on the ottoman across from the couch and leaned her elbows on her knees, folding her hands. She looked expectantly at her mother.

"Did I hear you correctly that your father helped put up those shelves?"

"Well, he didn't technically _hang_ anything, but he did offer constructive criticism and a fresh, new point of view," Lorelai replied. "But he was here, and he was helping, yes."

"Oh," Emily said.

"He's come around a few times—we've had some meals together at Luke's, at the Inn, and he's been calling pretty regularly. We even had dinner at the house, one night," Lorelai told her, watching her carefully. Her face revealed nothing, and she sat silently. "He's trying really hard, Mom."

"Trying to do what, Lorelai?" Her voice was hard.

"To be involved," she said. "To be family." She bit her lip. "What are you going to do, Mom? Are you going to go home?"

Emily smoothed the material of her skirt, pulled at a loose thread on the hem. "I don't know."

"So you came here?" Lorelai asked.

Emily raised her eyes to meet her daughter's. "It seems this is the place people come to when they don't want to be home."

Lorelai sat up, wounded. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

"I apologize, Lorelai. That was unnecessary."

"Yeah, Mom, it was," Lorelai told her, standing. She began to pace. She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Fine. Whatever. If you—I guess you could stay here a day or two, I could take the couch…"

Emily sighed. "I don't think that is the best solution, Lorelai. I did wonder…" Lorelai stopped, stood still. "Your inn? Do you have a free room?" Seeing the expression on her daughter's face, Emily got to her feet as well. "I am not asking for charity, Lorelai, I would—"

Lorelai reflexively shook her head, rolling her eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ears and put her hands on her hips, looking at the floor, gathering herself in. "You can stay at the Inn, Mom. We'll—we'll work something out. I might have a business proposal for you."

"A business proposal," Emily said, puzzled.

Again, Lorelai shook her head. "I'll talk to you about it later. Do you want to hang out here awhile, or do you want to go to the inn now?"

Emily looked about her uncertainly, seeming chastened. "I would like to lie down awhile."

"I'll get my keys," Lorelai said. "Rory! Your grandmother's leaving!"

Rory hurried down the hall. "Where's she going?" she whispered.

"The inn," Lorelai told her darkly.

She wrestled the suitcases out to the Jeep as Rory and Emily said their goodbyes. The drive to the inn was silent. Lorelai watched her mother out of the corner of her eye. She was restless, fidgety. She appeared not to have had a good night's sleep in a long time. Lorelai pulled the car to a stop outside the inn, sitting with her hands on the steering wheel a long time.

"You're welcome to stay, Mom," she said. "I didn't mean—I guess I'm just, I don't know, sad? Disappointed? Weirded out?"

Emily stared out the window. "This is not something I would like to discuss at the moment, Lorelai."

Lorelai took her keys from the ignition. "I'll be back."

When she returned ten minutes later, she was flanked by a pair of bellboys who immediately went to the trunk and retrieved Emily's luggage, carrying it around the corner to the guest house out back. Emily watched them go and turned to Lorelai.

She shrugged. "It's the only room that's not taken for consecutive days in a row," she said. "It's that or we bounce you every few days. If you're here that long."

"Lorelai," Emily began wearily.

"Go get some rest, Mom," Lorelai said gently. "Give us a call later, okay?" She paused before climbing back into the Jeep. "We're going to Hartford for dinner Sunday night. You should come."

"Oh, I don't—"

"Just think about it," she said. "Call the front desk if you need anything, okay, Mom?"

Emily took a breath. "Thank you, Lorelai."

* * *

Lorelai spent her afternoon watching Rory unpack, chatting about town gossip and the sightseeing Rory had done, the gifts she bought for Lane, for her grandfather, how the Dragonfly had fared in its first months. Lorelai lolled on the bed while Rory puttered about, organizing herself, arranging her clothes in the armoire.

"Those boots are _fabulous_," Lorelai breathed. She hung over the edge of the bed, peering down into Rory's suitcase.

"Mine," Rory said sternly. She stood up straight. "Oh. Shoot. Grandma took your good present with her."

"My good present? As opposed to all the bad ones?" Lorelai asked, sitting up. She clapped her hands. "Bring 'em on!"

Lane arrived later with several take out bags from Luke's, and the three girls sat around the living room eating through an orgy of present-giving. Lorelai cooed over her rosary beads and the bracelets Rory brought her from Florence. The novelty Pope she found fascinating, and she immediately placed it on the mantle. Lane was equally delighted with the matching necklaces and tee shirts, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number. She left just before six to have dinner with her mother, giving Rory a tight hug before she went.

"Mom, there's a whole bunch of other stuff for you, too, but I think it's all in Grandma's suitcase," Rory said.

"Oh, I don't care about the presents," Lorelai told her. "I'm just glad you're home."

"Liar," Rory said.

It wasn't long after Lane left that Rory began to fade, her chin drooping to her chest, her words swallowed in yawns. Lorelai insisted she go to bed and shut the door, try to catch up on her sleep and beat the jet lag as best as she could. She pulled Rory to her feet, kissed her forehead, and turned her towards her bedroom.

Rory hesitated at the end of the hall. "Mom?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Thank you."

"What for?"

Rory looked down a moment before answering. "For today. For my room, and the journal, and everything. For not, you know, pushing."

Lorelai nodded slightly. "You're welcome, sweets. Whatever you need, you let me know."

"I love you, Mom."

"Love you, too. Now, go to sleep."

* * *

Luke could see Lorelai before she saw him. She had curled up in a corner of the porch swing, clutching a coffee mug in both hands. The lamplight from the living room shone behind her—she was a silhouette in the darkness, a dim outline against the soft glow inside. He crossed the lawn towards her, almost beside her before she realized he was there. She turned her face up to him.

"Hey, you," she said softly.

He kissed her as he sat beside her, pulling her close. She settled her head against his shoulder, stretched across the swing, his arm supporting her back.

"Hey, love," he said.

She closed her eyes. With his free hand, he took the coffee mug from her and set it on the windowsill behind them. She laughed, her eyes still closed, and took his hand in hers. He cupped her shoulder with his other hand, absently tracing circles on her skin with his thumb.

"Sometimes, I just like to hold the coffee," she said.

"You are all kinds of strange," he told her. "I thought you'd be inside with Rory."

She opened her eyes. "She's sleeping." Lorelai paused. "She's different."

"How?"

Lorelai shifted slightly, tucking herself under his arm more securely, pressing her cheek against the collar of his shirt, her forehead just brushing his jaw. "She's grown up," she whispered.

He held her tightly, both arms around her, cradling her against his chest. "She always was," he told her.

"No, but this is—really, now, you know? She's grown up," she said again, her voice thick with tears. "I know she's always been—she's Rory, and she's always had that old soul, but she's just—she's more than that now. I don't know where my baby girl went."

Luke stroked her hair, shushing her. "It was going to happen eventually, you know that."

"I know, but did it have to happen so soon?" she wailed. "And I didn't—I wasn't even there."

"Sure you were," he said.

She lifted her head slightly. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet. She sniffed. "Say what?"

"You think she goes anywhere without taking you with her, in one way or another?" he asked her. "That she doesn't have your voice in her head, same way you've got hers?"

Lorelai wiped the cheek with the back of her hand and thought about this. "Maybe," she said.

Luke kissed her forehead. "Trust me," he said. "There wasn't a thing I didn't do or think of doing growing up that I didn't hear my dad's opinion on. I did what I was going to do anyway—" Lorelai laughed. "—but I always knew what he'd say. He was always there. Just like you are for Rory."

"Do you still have that?" she asked.

He shrugged slightly. "I guess I do."

Lorelai leaned her head back again, sighing. "Still. She wasn't supposed to grow up so fast."

"You can't stop that, Lorelai."

She began to laugh. "No, Luke, you can't fence time," she said. "I really hate that 'Suds in the Bucket' song." She stopped. "Fuck me, now it's going to be stuck in my head again."

Luke chuckled. "She's going to be just fine, you know that," he told her.

"She already is," Lorelai said. "She's Rory." She tilted her head back and kissed his cheek. "Let's just sit here awhile, okay?"

They sat silently, rocking the swing. Lorelai didn't know what time it was when she woke, or what it was that woke her. She looked about, confused. The sky was overcast, a murky black, the yard too dark for shadows. She struggled to sit up and shook Luke slightly. He yawned, opening his eyes.

"Oh, damn," he said. "What time is it?"

She rose, holding out her hands to him. "Don't know. Let's go to bed."

He passed his hand over his face, got his bearings. He stood and pointed towards the road. "I'm going to go back to my place."

"What? Luke, it's like—I don't know what time it is, but it's the middle of the night and it is ridiculous for you to walk all the way home. Just stay over."

"Ah, I don't know—I think I should go."

"Because of Rory? Luke, she so doesn't care," Lorelai said.

He scratched his jaw, yawning again. "I just don't feel comfortable, is all."

"You're serious," she said. "Come on, Luke. Just stay. Please?"

He drew her into a long, soft kiss. "Call me in the morning, huh?" he said.

Lorelai hugged him, her arms around his neck, her chin on his shoulder. "I love you, you big dope," she said.

He lifted her off her feet, his arms wrapped firmly around her. "I love you."

Lorelai watched him down the drive, waiting till he turned the corner towards town to go inside. When he'd gone, she went inside and turned off the lights, slowly making her way to her room, alone.


	35. Of Family

Of Family

"Are you really going to make her do this?"

Lorelai looked up. She was on her hands and knees in front of her closet, sorting through her shoes. She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Rory, the woman would not leave me alone today. Not only did she critique my outfit, she eavesdropped on not one, not two, but _three_ separate phone conversations _and_ she chewed out two of my wait staff for their apparent inability to predict her tea preference and not having the lemon available at the exact moment she ordered her beverage." She stopped and took a breath. "And I'm not _making_ her do anything. You can't make Emily Gilmore do anything—I swear, if she were the mountain, Mohammed would still be waiting."

Rory threw herself on the bed. "So you're saying she secretly _wants_ to come to this dinner?"

Lorelai crawled deeper into the closet as she spoke. "I'm saying she knows she's going to have to talk to Dad sooner or later," she said. "Where the hell are my pink suede pumps?"

"When was the last time you wore them?"

She backed carefully out of the closet and kneeled. She furrowed her brow, thinking. "Oh, God. I haven't worn them since Dad and Digger went twelve rounds at the town meeting." She pushed herself to her feet and dropped beside her daughter on the bed. "Luke probably still has them."

"Why would Luke have your pink suede pumps?"

Lorelai turned her head. "You _do_ realize that everything you've said since you came in the room has been a question."

Rory rolled her eyes. "That still doesn't explain why Luke would have your shoes."

"I gave them to him," Lorelai said. "It's—well, I guess it's not a long story. They were brand new, the ground was muddy, and I was about to run home, so I gave them to Luke so they wouldn't get ruined. And I was slightly hysterical, so it seemed like the absolute right thing to do at the time." She scowled. "I can't believe he's had them this whole time. Think of all the quality bonding time I've lost with those shoes."

"Poor shoes," Rory said. "They're probably shoved at the back of Luke's closet, crying, weeping, actually, from neglect."

Lorelai gasped. "Mean! Oh, my shoes." She sighed. "I'll just wear my strappy sandals instead. We've got to go get your grandmother." She rose, pulling Rory to her feet. "Who would have thought I would willingly be going to dinner with both my parents, fairly certain that the event would not involve any sort of entertaining humiliation?"

Rory shook her head. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"Just call me Kurt," Lorelai said.

"Why would I do that?" Rory asked, following her mother down the stairs.

Lorelai tossed a horrified look over her shoulder. "Clearly, babe, you've been gone too long. Your game is totally off. I was—"

"_Sound of Music,_ I get it," Rory said. "It was just weak, Mom."

"Yeah? Well, uh, you're, ah—Yale sucks," she stuttered.

Rory put her arm around Lorelai's shoulders as they walked to the car. "Don't worry, Mom. A stack of magazines, a few hours in front of the TV, you'll be good as new. I've got you covered."

"I am touched by your condescension," Lorelai drawled.

Emily was waiting for them, standing on the front steps of the Dragonfly, her arms crossed over her chest. She was flanked on either side by two bellhops loaded down with shopping bags. Lorelai swung out of the Jeep and opened the back for them.

"What's with the cargo, Mom?"

"They're presents," Emily said curtly. "Let's just get this over with, now, shall we?"

The drive to Hartford was brief, and for the most part silent, though Lorelai would attempt, every few moments, to wheedle information from her mother and daughter about what sort of presents were in the bags.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lorelai! Would you please just drive and remain silent for five minutes together? You'll find out what the damned presents are when you open them!" Emily cried.

Lorelai exchanged a look with Rory in the rear view mirror. "Sorry, Mom," she said quietly. "Just trying to ease the tension."

"There is no tension, Lorelai," Emily said. "It is only a dinner—isn't that what you said yesterday when you steamrolled me into this?"

"Steamrolled? Who steamrolled?" Lorelai said. "I merely suggested—"

Emily threw up a hand. "Please, Lorelai. I think you know I invented this game, and you will therefore lose, so it's better to quit while you are slightly ahead. _Slightly,_" she added.

When they arrived at the house, the three women stood in front of the door a long moment.

"Should we ring the bell?" Rory asked. "Or do we just go in?"

"Ring the bell," Lorelai said. She put out her hand to ring the bell, but her mother grabbed her wrist.

"Wait," Emily said. "Just a moment."

Rory and Lorelai stood expectantly, their eyes on Emily. She was pale, shaking. She took a breath, smoothed the front of her dress, shook her hair slightly, seeming to collect herself. She reached out and pressed the doorbell.

"Good for you, Mom," Lorelai whispered.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Yes, Lorelai, ringing the bell to my own house is quite an accomplishment. Thank you for recognizing that. I don't know what I would have done—"

She stopped when the door opened and they were ushered inside. The maid was new, someone Emily certainly hadn't hired. Emily looked at Lorelai, aghast. "She's all of eighteen!" she hissed.

"She's got the bar set up," Lorelai replied. "I love her already. You should keep this one around, Mom."

The maid watched them seat themselves, hanging back in the entryway to the parlor. She told them Mr. Gilmore would be right with them and scurried towards the kitchen to check on dinner after she'd made sure there was nothing further they needed from her.

Rory sat back on the sofa. "She's _good."_

"Who knew Dad had such hiring skills?" Lorelai marveled.

"She's probably sneaking the good silverware out in her purse a piece at a time every night," Emily said darkly. "That's what happens when you hire them so young. He'll see. _You'll_ see," she told them, pointing.

Lorelai rolled her eyes as she rose and moved to the bar, poked around in the ice bucket. "Gin, gin, gin," she murmured. "Where's the gin?"

"Lorelai, please let me take care of the drinks."

She jerked her head up as her father entered, instinctively backing away from the bar. Rory was out of her seat before he'd crossed the room, walking towards him with her arms open.

"Grandpa!"

He hugged her tightly. "Rory. Wonderful to see you." He stood back and studied her briefly. "You've grown," he said. He looked at Lorelai. "Lorelai, she's grown."

Rory shook her head. "Everyone keeps saying that. Do I really look taller?"

"Like a big, tall freak," Lorelai said. "Hi, Dad."

"Lorelai," Richard said, nodding his head. He seemed to hesitate a moment before turning, his arm still firmly about Rory, and bowing slightly in his wife's direction. "Hello, Emily. You look very well."

Emily remained seated, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Thank you, Richard."

Rory looked up at her grandfather, gasping slightly. "Grandpa! Your lip's bald again!"

He raised his hand absently to his face. "Yes, well. I thought perhaps it was time to relinquish my final grasp at youth. The maintenance was a terrible nuisance, as well."

"Well, sure," Lorelai said. "All the combing and trimming and whatnot."

"Whatnot?" Rory giggled.

"Whatnot," Lorelai replied.

Rory sat again as Richard went to assist Lorelai at the bar, mixing and pouring martinis for himself and Lorelai. He looked up, his hand poised to pour a third. "Emily, would you like a martini? Or perhaps something else—a whiskey sour?"

Rory thought she saw a whisper of a smile on her grandmother's face. "How nice of you to remember, Richard," she said.

"It is a difficult thing to forget," he told her, inclining his head slightly.

Lorelai looked from her mother to her father and back again, certain something was passing between them and not entirely sure what it was. Emily said that a whiskey sour would be lovely and asked Rory to come sit by her. She obliged, rising and crossing from one sofa to the other, and sat close to Emily, resting her head briefly on her grandmother's shoulder. Emily put an arm around Rory and squeezed her tightly a few seconds before taking the proffered drink from Richard's hand.

"So, Grandpa, what have you been up to while we've been gone?" Rory asked. "Besides getting so skinny? You went and got all Kate Moss on us."

He colored slightly as he sat in his regular chair. "Yes, well, I have been walking quite a bit."

"Walking?" Emily asked, one eyebrow raised.

He cleared his throat. "Yes. I still get up quite early and because I no longer have an office to go to, I have taken to going on rather long walks before breakfast." He looked into his drink. "I've been making some changes, you see."

"Well, you look great," Rory said. "Doesn't he, Mom?"

Lorelai nodded. "Oh, yeah, just fantastic."

"So, you get up, you go for a walk, then what?" Rory asked. "A little weight-lifting, maybe?"

Richard chuckled. "I'm afraid that's a bit beyond me. No, generally after breakfast, I work in my study for a few hours—I've retired for the most part, but I have retained a position as consultant at Floyd's company, and I do customer relations work for another firm as well." Though he spoke to Rory, it was clear his words were meant for Emily. "And in the afternoon, I go to the club or I read or watch television, go for a drive—I have found that a little leisure time is not necessarily as difficult to fill as I once thought."

"What do you watch on TV?" Lorelai asked.

"Excuse me?"

She swirled her drink, grinning. "You said you watch TV. What do you watch? You must watch something. CNN, MSNBC, CSPAN, Oxygen?"

He rose and busied himself making Lorelai another drink. "Oh, generally, just—usually the first thing that's on is what I watch."

"And what is that, Dad?" she asked, turning around in her seat, watching him with laughing eyes.

He sighed and gave her a dark look. "Please allow me a shred of dignity, Lorelai."

Emily turned to Rory, puzzled. "Have you any idea what is going on here?"

Rory shook her head. "None at all."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Lorelai said, "but it has to be done." She leaned forward as she spoke, her voice conspiratorial. "Dad has gotten really into _The Young and the Restless._"

"Soap operas?" Emily said, horrified. "Oh, Richard, really. And this is how you plan to spend your retirement? Watching stories?"

He drew himself up to his full height. "I rather enjoy it, Emily."

Rory bit her lips together, trying not to laugh. "Grandpa, I think that's great. Expanding your cultural horizons."

Richard sighed, passing a hand over his face. "I am being mocked in my own home," he said.

"I would have thought you'd be used to it by now," Emily said archly.

He looked at her, his eyes wide, held her gaze for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I suppose I should be," he said. "Shall we proceed to dinner?"

As Lorelai sat in her regular seat, her mother at one end of the table, her father at the other, her daughter across from her, she had the vague notion that it was the first time she'd done so while on almost-good terms with both her parents—she'd never thought it possible and found it slightly unfortunate that the two of them couldn't be on better terms as well. She let her father pour her wine and looked around her expectantly, though what she was waiting for, she wasn't sure. She turned her eyes to Rory, silently telling her to do something as the silence in the room was rapidly becoming unbearably uncomfortable. Both Richard and Emily fussed with their napkins, their silverware, adjusted the position of their wine glasses.

"So," Rory said. "I—uh—you know, Italy's great."

Lorelai began to giggle, covered her mouth with her hand as the giggle took on a life of its own. "Italy's great!" she chortled. "A year at Yale and a summer abroad and the best conversation starter she can come up with is 'Italy's great?'"

Richard leaned towards his daughter, his brow furrowed. "Lorelai, are you having some kind of fit?"

"Really, Lorelai," Emily said wearily.

Rory tucked her chin to her chest and said nothing, studiously avoiding her mother's gaze and taking deep, measured breaths. Lorelai cleared her throat and composed herself, muttering, "just another Gilmore family dinner."

"So, Rory," Richard said, tucking into his salad, "Emily—tell us about your travels."

As Rory charted their trip for her grandfather, telling him everything Lorelai had already heard about the places they went and the things they saw, Lorelai continued to watch her parents closely. Her father seemed chattier than usual, her mother more quiet and withdrawn. Richard spoke with an eagerness to please hiding just beneath the surface of whatever he said and there was a hopefulness in his movements, in the set of his face, that Lorelai had never seen before. Just having his wife show up, having her come back, even for a single meal—she knew he thought it must mean something; she knew he thought it meant there was a chance. She could see it written clearly in everything he did, from the way he poured the wine to the way he made sure to include her and Emily in the conversation. She found herself feeling a sort of sympathetic pity for him, knowing he was trying so hard and receiving so little encouragement.

Emily was impossible to read. She had an aura of watchfulness, of carefulness, as though everything about her was being analyzed, calculated, and catalogued for future reference. When she spoke her voice was, for the most part, neutral, though Lorelai noticed that time with Rory had given her a greater sense of irony and her remarks could be even more cutting than usual. She could honestly say that even after all the years of distance and chilliness, she'd never seen her mother quite this cool, this composed, this completely reserved and separate as she appraised the situation. She wondered how her father was faring. She knew Emily would be extremely pleased in knowing that he, himself, wouldn't have a clue, either.

The conversation had shifted towards Rory's plans for the remainder of the summer, and at the mention of working at the inn, Richard turned to Lorelai.

"I forgot to mention this when I spoke with you the other day, Lorelai, but I phone-conferenced with a young woman Friday morning who said she knew you," he said. "A lawyer."

Lorelai put her fork down and adopted a solemn expression. "I don't know what she told you, Dad, but what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Besides, they can't prove anything," she said. "I was nowhere near that nightclub."

Richard stared a moment, nonplussed. "Yes, well, in attempting to set up a dinner meeting for a few clients, I suggested the inn that my daughter recently opened as a suitable place and she seemed to connect everything. She asked after you, and so I told her the inn was doing splendidly."

"Well, thank you, Dad, that's very nice of you," Lorelai said. "What was this lawyer lady's name?"

Richard cut into his chicken, saying, "oh, a Nicole something or other."

Lorelai felt her eyes widen. "Nicole something, huh?"

"Leahy?" Rory asked. Lorelai shot her a look; she shrugged.

He looked up, pointed with the tip of his knife. "Excellent, Rory, that's it. Nicole Leahy. And how do you know each other?"

"Oh, you know, just, ah—uh—just—she's—she's—"

"She's a friend of Luke's," Rory supplied. "They just know each other through Luke."

"Through Luke," Lorelai echoed, silently thanking Rory for being more quick-minded than she. "We met a few times at the diner, that's all."

"Well, she congratulated you on the inn," Richard said. "I must say, I allowed myself to brag a little on your behalf."

Lorelai closed her eyes, shook her head, sighing. "Oh, Dad, I wish you wouldn't—"

"And why ever not?" Emily demanded. "It is a lovely place, Lorelai, the food and the help are excellent, it's comfortable, it's in a charming spot—let your father brag if he wants to. You deserve it."

Lorelai's mouth fell open. "Wow, thanks, Mom. I'm—wow. Thanks," she said again.

"I quite agree, Emily," Richard said. "I've enjoyed my few visits there immensely."

"Well, I think it stinks," Rory said teasingly. "Really, Mom. It's remarkably bad."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes, retorting, "Yeah? Well, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Could we at least _attempt_ to have a civilized dinner conversation without the juvenile commentary?"

"Where's the fun in that, Mom?" Lorelai asked, smiling brightly.

When the dinner was cleared and the desserts brought out, Richard brought conversation back to the inn. "How is your project for the biographer coming?" he asked. "When we last discussed it, you were encountering some red tape, I believe."

Lorelai sighed. "It's turning out to be a way bigger job than I thought. I think I'm going to have to sub-contract." She looked at her mother. "I was hired by some guests at the inn to oversee renovations to a house in town. There are six of them, they've been in the same home for years, and they decided to club in on a house together rather than sit around in a retirement community. They're really fantastic people, Mom. There's just so much work to do on the house and there's decorating and ordering and appointments, it's a little too much for me, with the inn just having opened and all."

"Then why would you take such a project on?" Emily asked. "Surely you didn't think something like this would be a small task."

She shrugged. "I signed on without giving it a whole lot of thought. I'm thinking I need someone to take over the little day-to-day stuff for me, someone to be in charge of all the projects and handle the buying and the hiring, stuff like that." She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know _who_ I'm going to find to do that."

Rory smothered a grin. "Grandma, I bet you'd be great at that."

Lorelai opened her mouth in an _O_ of surprise. "What a great idea," she said. "Rory, you are so smart."

"I thought I was a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie," Rory said.

"Well, that, too."

Emily lifted her napkin from her lap and folded it beside her plate. "How long have you been rehearsing that?" she asked.

"Just in the car on the way to the inn," Rory said.

"What do you think, Mom? I just need someone to be my eyes around the house," Lorelai said. "I thought this could be something fun for you—a whole house to decorate and plan. You'll be my liaison to the construction crew and—"

"I will think about it, Lorelai."

"Do that, and let me know soon."

When the dinner had been cleared away, the four Gilmores returned to the parlor so that Rory could give out the last of the presents she and Emily had brought back from Europe. She gave her grandfather the bookends first.

He turned them over in his hands, running his fingertips over the carvings, marveling at the intricacies of the design. "These are quite something," he said. "I take it these are to replace the old brass ones?"

"It's time those things were melted down for scrap," Emily said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Wretched things."

"And so they shall be," Richard said. "They were a present as well, but it is time some things were disposed of. These are much more distinguished."

"I quite agree," Rory said, laughing.

The leather bag rendered Lorelai temporarily speechless. She held it in her hands, opening and closing her mouth, staring. It was a shoulder bag, rectangular and thin. The top flap closed to the bottom of the bag with thin straps of red leather to match the red of the design that had been worked over the front of the bag.

"This decides it: I need a new winter coat," she said. "I need a new winter coat to match my fabulous new bag. This is amazing. I love it."

"It's for work," Emily told her.

"It's perfect," she said, her smile sincere. "Really."

There were other gifts as well, Hermes handkerchiefs for Richard, a magnifying glass from a London antique book store, a pipe stand. For Lorelai, thin gold bracelets from Florence with a matching necklace, a sky blue Parisian scarf (with matching beret, which Emily said Rory had insisted upon), a set of nesting dolls painted to look like Vatican guards, an Italian movie poster for _The Godfather._ Emily surprised Rory with a new handbag and matching wallet, and she Emily with a set of glass dishes from Venice she'd snuck into her carry-on at the last moment.

Emily held the final two boxes on her lap. "These are fragile," she said. "Don't shake them."

Lorelai unwrapped hers first. Her face lit up as she unrolled the dancing girl with her wild hair from the sheath of tissue paper that encased her. "Oh, Mom," she breathed. "This is beautiful." She held the figure up to catch the light, laughing delightedly. "Thank you," she said. "This is just—I love it." She met Emily's eye. "Really, Mom." She looked at Rory. "Can I name her Lorelai, or is that just too much?"

Rory snorted. "She asks her daughter—named _Lorelai_."

Richard unwrapped his own figure and set it on the table beside the couch, studying it. He turned it around several times, peering over the sitting man's shoulder, examining his pipe, looking at the detailing of his chair. He tapped the glass head with a satisfied smile.

"Quite a work of art," he said. He looked at his wife, his expression slightly tremulous. "Thank you, Emily. It's very fine." He met her eyes for an instant before she looked away, smoothing her skirt over her lap. "I like it very much," he said stiffly. "We will have to find it a special place of honor."

Lorelai looked up to the clock on the mantle. "Can we do it at the next dinner, Dad? It's getting kinda late."

Emily rose at this and began collecting the debris from Lorelai's exuberant unwrapping. Richard watched from the couch as the women gathered their things together, tidied up, put things in bags and boxes and cleared the floor. He rose after several minutes of this and followed them as they headed for the door.

"Would anyone enjoy a nightcap?" he asked, his words hurried out as though he were afraid they would leave before he could say anything, even goodbye. "Emily?" he said, his face lifted with hope.

She smiled slightly. "Perhaps next time, Richard," she said gently.

"Ah, of course," he said. "Of course. Would you all come to see me again on Friday?"

Lorelai slung her bag over her shoulder, nodding. "I think we can just squeeze that in, Dad."

Rory hugged her grandfather tightly. "Thanks for dinner, Grandpa. I missed you!"

He kissed the top of her head. "I missed you as well." He stood behind them as they filed out the door. "Ah, Emily?"

She turned. "Yes, Richard."

"Might I—that is, would it be acceptable—could I perhaps—if you have the time, I wonder if we might, at your discretion, of course, have lunch? This week? At the Inn, if that is convenient?" he asked.

Emily paused a full moment before answering, sizing him up, watching him wait. "You may call me at the Dragonfly, yes," she said. "Good night, Richard."

"Good night, Emily." He didn't close the door until they had all climbed in the Jeep and driven beyond his sight.

The first few moments of the ride were again silent. Lorelai drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove, stealing glances at her mother from the corner of her eye.

"So," she said. "It was okay." Emily said nothing. "You're not going to make this easy on him, are you?"

Her mother looked determinedly out the window. "Really, Lorelai, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do," Lorelai said.

Emily turned in her seat wearing an angry frown Lorelai knew well. "Why should I make it easy on him, Lorelai? Why? Have you _any_ idea what the past year has been like for me?"

Lorelai sat up straighter in her seat, feeling chastened. "I'm sorry," she said. "He's just trying _so_ hard."

"Let him try," Emily said. "Let him exhaust himself trying to please someone else, for once. Let him try and show me how often he talks to you, that he's trying to be an active part of your life. Let him retire, shave off that damned mustache, try and have a life that's not made up of work. If he wants to prove—"

"Prove what, Mom? That he loves you? That he misses you, that he needs you? Isn't that obvious?" Lorelai asked.

Emily crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Really, Lorelai, do not be so naïve."

Lorelai sighed. "Fine. You want me to stay out of it, I'll stay out of it."

"Thank you."

"Rory, babe, I'm going to drop myself off at Luke's—can you bring your grandmother back to the Inn and take the car home? I'll meet you back at the house later," Lorelai said, catching Rory's eye in the rear view mirror.

When they reached Stars Hollow, Lorelai pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of the diner and stepped out of the idling car. "Good night, Mom," she said quietly, ducking her head as she rounded the front of the Jeep.

"Good night, Lorelai," Emily said, her voice heavy and tired.

"I'll see you back at the house?" Rory asked.

She nodded and waved, standing on the sidewalk as they drove away.

Rory held her peace on the drive back to the inn. The silence was less tense than when her mother had been with them, more thoughtful, companionable. Familiar, Rory thought. She kissed her grandmother's cheek as Emily made to get out of the car.

"Grandma, are you okay?" she asked.

Emily hesitated before she answered. "I am just fine, Rory, thank you for asking."

"Okay," Rory said. "Good. I'll come see you tomorrow." She bit her lip, trying to decide before she spoke. "He loves you, Grandma."

Emily touched Rory's cheek with the back of her hand before she closed the door and turned towards her bungalow. "I know, my dear," she said. "Good night."

Rory pulled the Jeep into the drive and killed the lights when she got home, wishing that she and her mother had thought to leave a lamp or two on in the house. She had always hated coming back to a dark house in the evening; when she was young, she had imagined houses had personalities like people and that when the lights were out, houses were lonely and tired, sad shadows of their happy, homey, lit-up selves. Though it wasn't fully dark yet as she crossed the lawn, she shivered, dreading the moment she opened the door and walked into the empty house—she'd never quiet gotten over the sensation that the house was in some way _waiting_ for her.

She saw movement from the corner of her eye as she put her key in the lock. She turned her head and jumped, putting her hand to her throat.

"God, Dean," she cried. "You scared me! What are you doing out here in the dark? What are you doing _here?"_ she asked. She remained where she stood, her hand on the doorknob, the screen door at her back.

"I heard you were back," he said, and his voice was still thick and husky as it had been the last night she'd seen him. "I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

The question wasn't harsh or unfriendly—she spoke in an even, perfectly reasonable and curious Rory-tone, the same way she'd have asked him what he was reading. He looked at his feet.

"I just—I wanted to see you," he said again.

"Well, I understand that," she said, "but I'd like to know why."

"Rory," he said, and it was a plea.

She sighed, let her hand drop from the doorknob and fall to her side. "I don't want to do this with you, Dean," she said. "I'm sorry, I just—I don't." She stepped away from the door and let the screen slam shut.

"Do what?" he asked, looking up.

Rory felt a slight catch in her throat—when he looked at her that way, his chin down, his eyes barely visible through the shag of hair falling across his forehead, she was sixteen, she was carrying her books through the halls of Stars Hollow High and talking about round cakes. She swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around herself, clutching her house keys tightly in one hand.

"Whatever you're here to do," she told him. "I don't particularly want to discuss the last time we saw each other, and I don't really want to talk about what to do next. I don't want to get into how you feel about me and how I feel about you. I don't think that's going to do either one of us any good."

He began to pace, his breath coming more quickly. "So what do you want? Do you want to forget it happened? Pretend that we didn't—"

"I couldn't do that even if I wanted to," she said, her voice still level. "Because we did. And you know, Dean, we didn't really talk about it then, either, so let's just do the same thing tonight. I think that would be the best thing, I really do."

"Rory, I don't—I don't understand," he said. "If you don't want to talk, what are we supposed to do? How are we supposed to, you know, to be?"

She turned her face away as she spoke. "You go be Dean, and I'll be Rory."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" he asked. "And why did you just take off?"

"I didn't _just take off_, Dean," she said. "And you don't get to ask me questions like that, not after you're the one who ran out of the house and didn't call, didn't come see me, didn't even write a note after we _slept_ together. You don't get to ask me questions like that."

"I tried to talk to you," he said. "I came to see Lorelai, and—"

She shook her head, snorting slightly in disgust. "Talking to my mother and talking to me isn't the same thing, Dean." Rory bit her lip. "This is exactly what I didn't want to do. I didn't want to—to rehash the whole thing. There's no point. We're not going to get anywhere." She sighed. "Dean, that night was—what we did? That's not the person that I am or the person that I want to be. It was wrong, and I feel—I feel terrible about it. I've spent the last six weeks trying to figure out how to stop feeling terrible about it and I'm still not sure. But I don't think—I can't go through this with you. I don't want to commiserate or come up with a plan or help you figure out what to do. I think it's best if we just—we can't forget or pretend or anything, but we can just—we can stay out of each other's way. Stay out of each other's lives."

Dean dropped down to the porch floor, squatting low, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. "And that's what you want."

"What else is there, Dean? You want to be friends?" she asked, closing her eyes. "Were we ever really friends?"

"I thought we were," he said. "I thought we were friends. I thought we were more than friends."

Rory hugged herself more tightly and leaned against the door frame. "More than friends isn't really an option either, Dean," she said. "You're still married."

"Yeah, but—"

"No, Dean," she cried, "there is no 'but' there. You're married. You're married to someone else, and that's all I need to know now. We can't—we can't just be in each other's lives anymore. It's all changed now," she said. "Everything has changed."

He rose and stepped towards her. "I know," he said. "I know that. And I don't—I don't know what to do. Things with Lindsay—"

Rory moved back slightly. "Dean, I don't want to know about things with Lindsay. That's _your_ life. It's your business. She's your wife. Whatever—whatever you choose to do, that's what—it's your choice. But whatever it is, I just think it's better if we keep our distance."

"How long?"

She took a breath. "Permanently."

"Rory," he said. "Don't."

She reached for the screen door. "Dean, I just—this is what I need to do. I did something that made me just—made me question myself, made me miserable, and I'm trying to move forward, I'm trying to do what's best for me—and it's the right thing to do, Dean. Please, just…" she trailed off and opened the front door. "Please respect that." She paused. "I'm really sorry, Dean, for everything I put you through, and I'm sorry that things are so hard right now. I really am. Good night."

She shut and locked the door behind her, immediately fumbling to turn on a lamp. Sighing, she kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself. She reached for the remote and turned the TV on, rolled onto her side, pushed her face into a pillow. She curled her knees towards her chest and let the tears that had been pushing at the base of her throat find their way out.

The door of the diner was unlocked but the lights were all off and Luke nowhere to be seen. Lorelai shut the door behind her and dropped her purse and coat on the nearest tabletop.

"Luke?" she called, wandering over to the counter. She leaned over the countertop, peering at the coffeemaker behind it. She rounded the corner and stepped behind the counter, searching for a light switch.

"Haven't we discussed the rules of the counter before?"

She looked over her shoulder to see Luke at the bottom of the stairs, his hands on his hips, his head tipped back. She smiled. "Hey, stranger." She gestured at him with the empty coffee pot. "I was just—"

"I know what you were just," he said, coming to stand behind her. "Let me do it."

She handed him the carafe. "Yours is better, anyway."

He pointed to the other side of the counter. "Out." She leaned up and kissed his cheek before obeying. "How bad was the dinner?"

"What makes you think it was bad?"

He looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. "You always come here after bad dinners with your parents."

"I do not."

"Yeah, you do," he said.

"Well, tonight, I just wanted to see you," she said.

"I'm flattered," he said flatly.

Lorelai crumpled a napkin in her hand and threw it at him. "Just pour the coffee, Mel." She sighed. "It wasn't—it wasn't bad. It was just weird. It was like my dad was auditioning, or something. He asked after you, by the way. I think he has a little hetero man-crush on you."

"Now, why do you have to say things like that?" Luke groaned.

She giggled. "I just do," she said. "My mom is really going to make him work to show her he's worthy."

Luke thought about this a moment as he reached for a clean cup and poured Lorelai her coffee, placing a donut on a plate for her as well. "Seems to me that's the way it is with the right person."

She crinkled her brow, took an enormous bite of the donut. "Say what?" she asked, her mouth full.

He laughed and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Crumbs," he said. "I'm just saying that the person you really want to be with is the one you've got to work the hardest for."

She stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup. "Are you saying I'm work?"

"I've already told you you're work."

"You're not exactly a pleasure cruise yourself, you know," she retorted.

Luke smiled and leaned down against the counter, putting himself at eye level with her. "I don't mind," he said. "I've never been afraid of hard work."

Lorelai put her coffee cup down and smirked. "You are so damned cocky, you know that?" She paused. "So, did you not have to work for other women? Did they just _fall_ at your feet? Or did you have that spray like in _Love Potion Number Nine_ that made women just swoon every time you spoke?"

He looked at her levelly and pointed from himself to her. "The progression of this relationship was not normal."

"You're really digging a hole, here, buddy."

"And you're deliberately being stupid," he told her. "And you know it."

She shrugged one shoulder and blinked innocently. "That's actually rather clever of me," she said. "But I know you mean. I did sort of give you a run for your money—"

"Sort of?"

"—and I had to get all my shit together, too. But for my parents—they already did all that. They know, you know?" she said.

Luke took her cup from her and placed it on the counter behind him. "Maybe they just have to learn it again," he said.

She pointed at her cup, her mouth open. "Bring back the coffee!"

He took her hand in his own. "Get up," he said, pulling her off her seat and towards the stairs, holding her hand over the counter. He led her up the stairs, opening the door for her.

She gave him a puzzled look as she passed him, and stopped short just past the kitchen table. "Oh, Luke," she said softly. "You didn't."

He shrugged and draped his arm over her shoulder. "Well, yeah. I did."

Lorelai put her arms around him and tilted her face up to his. "You bought a double bed."

"It's just a full bed."

She grinned. "It's a double bed. You bought a double bed." She paused. "Wait, should I be offended? Am I that easy?"

"I believe we just covered that," Luke said dryly. "Go try it out."

The bed was still unmade, the mattress bare and shiny. Lorelai sat lightly on the edge of the bed and scooted back a little before bouncing up and down slightly, testing it. She giggled.

"Firm, yet pliant—and oh, dirty!" she said. "Not too squishy. Very nice choice."

"I thought so," Luke said, throwing himself down beside her.

She lay down, pillowing her cheek with her arm. She wriggled across the mattress until she was nose to nose with Luke and closed her eyes. "It smells like the mall," she said. "Did you wash the sheets you bought yet?"

"I haven't bought sheets yet," he said.

Her eyes flew open. "No sheets? Do you at least have a mattress pad?"

"That the thing that goes between the sheets and the bed?"

"Yes, Luke, that the thing."

"Yeah, well, no," he said. "Didn't get that yet, either."

Lorelai rolled onto her back and propped herself up on her elbows. "Well, you can't sleep on this tonight."

"Sure I can," Luke said.

"No, Luke, you can't," she said. "You can't just sleep on a bare mattress. It's gross. And it still smells like the mall, and you hate the mall, and that just depresses me." She sat up and pushed him on his back, straddled him and placed her hands flat on his chest. "I am not letting you sleep on a sad, bare mattress. It's not right."

"I'll sleep on the couch."

She groaned. "That's ridiculous! Now _you're_ deliberately being stupid. Just come home with me, would you?"

He covered his face with his hands. "Ah, geez."

Lorelai took his hands in hers and pulled him into a sitting position, locked her arms around her neck. "Tell you what," she said. "We'll take one of the old flat sheets from your twin bed and spread it out over the mattress, and if I find that's sufficient, I won't say another word. If, however," she continued, "I find it in any way lacking, you're coming home with me."

"What are the chances of you finding it sufficient?"

"Well, I won't know that until I try it," she said. "But, hey, take a second to enjoy the fact that you've got a lady in your lap, here."

Luke wrapped his arms around her and kissed her briefly. "You like the bed?"

She nodded, smiling. "I like the bed," she whispered. "Thank you. But when I said enjoy it for a second, I wasn't speaking literally, so—" He cut her off, tightening his hold on her as he kissed her again. After several moments, she leaned back, caught her breath, tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Okay," she said hoarsely, "let's go get that sheet."

"Right," Luke said, lifting her off her lap and jogging to the closet where he kept his towels and linen. "How's two?"

Lorelai kicked off her shoes. "Three is better than two," she said. "Two under, one on top." She looked at him. "Please tell me you own more than two sets of sheets."

He grinned. "Four: two for me, two for Jess."

She unfolded one of the sheets and gave an end to Luke. "Never thought I'd ever thank the gods above for sending Jess to this town," she said. "Here." She tossed him the end of another sheet and they spread it across the bed over the first. She kneeled on the bed and grabbed Luke by the collar, pulling him into another fierce, heated kiss.

"So," he said breathlessly, a few long moments later, "two sheets gonna do it?"

Lorelai reached her arms up towards the ceiling. "For now," she said. He slipped her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She wound her arms around his neck, flipping off his hat, giggling a little against his mouth. "I think the third sheet will make it feel a little less tawdry," she said, laughing.

Luke rolled his eyes and stood, kicking off his shoes as he reached for the third sheet, opening it and letting it fall over the bed. Lorelai wriggled out of her skirt and stretched out under the sheet, still laughing.

"Let's break this baby in," she said.

"Very nice pillow talk."

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

He grinned. "Whatever you say."

Since her revelation in the gazebo, Lorelai had ceased to fear the intensity of feeling when they made love, no longer felt she was walking a razor's edge, and with nothing to hold back, nothing to make her cautious, she gave herself over to him completely. There was nothing hanging in the balance, no corner of her mind still pulling away—Luke filled her, obliterated everything but the present moment.

She lay in the curve of his arm, after, her cheek against his shoulder. He traced circles on her elbow with his thumb, pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I want to stay," she said.

"So stay."

"I can't. I told Rory I'd be home."

He sighed. "So, are you going to make me sleep on the crappy old sheets on the new mattress or let me come home with you?"

She dropped a kiss on his shoulder. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice. Come on," she said, pulling him with her as she sat up. "Hey, do you have my pink shoes?"

"They're on top of the fridge."

"I'm so wearing them home," she said, clambering out of bed. "Hey, dare you to walk me home wearing only what the good Lord gave you."

He was already sliding his jeans up over his hips. "Right."

"A girl can dream," she said.

They walked to the house, Lorelai hanging on Luke's arm, dangling her sandals in one hand. The night was warm, humid, the air heavy and sweet. As they wandered the streets of Stars Hollow, listening to frogsong and cricket symphonies, Lorelai thanked whatever higher power had thrown her this way when she was young and lost and in need of a place to belong. She looked up at Luke. She remembered telling him she liked her life, her stuff, her friends; it had been true, then, she'd been content with what she had. It was more than that now, with her hand solidly in his, his step slowed slightly to hers—she was close to something, now, with him, that she knew she'd always wanted even when she'd hated to admit it, and it wasn't a life limited to just what was hers.

She stopped on the porch, by the door. She dropped her sandals and tucked her hair behind her ears, closing her eyes a moment, savoring the smell of the night, the flush and heat still singing beneath her skin. When she opened her eyes she found Luke watching her. She put a hand to his cheek and guided his face to hers, kissing him softly, drawing him closer, remembering.

When he broke the kiss, she stepped back slightly, her eyes still closed. She opened them slowly, smiling. "You never did say anything official, you know," she said.

He looked at her questioningly a moment, then smiling ruefully, shook his head. "Ah, geez."

"At least this evening, we're assured there's no naked Kirk to disrupt us."

Luke's jaw tightened. "I could have throttled him with my bare hands." He put up a hand. "If you say it, I'm going home right now."

"I'm not saying anything," she grinned. "Well, I _will_ say that was one of the most—possibly _the_ most—surprising nights of my life. And for more reasons than one."

"Didn't quite end up the way I thought it would, either," Luke said.

"Oh? And how were you anticipating the evening to end?" she teased.

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said, honestly. "But kissing you wasn't really in the plan."

"And yet," she said.

"I just—I don't know," he said again. "I decided, and then I did it."

Lorelai took his hand and pulled him close again. "Good decision." She rested her forehead against his cheek. "Thank you, by the way."

"For?"

"Being patient with me this summer," she said simply. "You could have just Rhett Butlered your way out—I'm just—to say that I'm really glad you didn't is a gross understatement." She pulled back and met his eyes. "Thank you."

His gaze faltered. "I promised," he said. "I meant it." He looked up. "I can't help it. I just love you."

"I love you, too," she said, resting her hands in the crooks of his elbows, leaning up to kiss him.

They stayed on the porch some time, wrapped up in each other. Both started when the porch lights began to flicker on and off and pulled away guiltily. The front door opened a crack and Rory peeked her head out.

"Okay, you two," she said. "That's enough of that."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "You're very funny."

"I had to do it," Rory laughed, opening the door. "I'm going to bed." She stepped out onto the porch and put her arms around her mother, hugging her tightly. "Night, Mom." She brushed a kiss on her mother's cheek and made to step away, but Lorelai held onto her for a moment.

"Everything okay?" she asked, studying Rory's face. She put a hand to Rory's cheek. "You all right?"

Rory nodded. "I think I'm okay. I'll—tomorrow, breakfast? We'll talk?"

"Deal," Lorelai said, kissed her daughter's cheek. "Sleep tight, sweets."

"You too," she said. She turned to Luke and stood on her tip toes, saying "night, Luke," as she daintily pecked his cheek, so slightly that Lorelai, watching, wasn't sure she'd even made contact.

He reddened. "Night, Rory."

They watched her inside, Lorelai choking with laughter and fairly jumping on her feet with delight. Luke stood awkwardly in the same spot, seeming stunned. She put out her hand and laced her fingers through his.

"Come on, lover," she laughed. "Let's go to sleep."

"Don't call me that," he groaned, following her inside, "I beg you."

He closed the door behind them, locking it and turning off lights as he followed Lorelai upstairs.

In her room, Rory fell asleep among a pile of pillows, her copy of _The Distance from the Heart Of Things_ open on the comforter beside her, her journal just beside it. She slept with the window open, the gauzy yellow curtains her mother made her just fluttering with the slight breeze, brightening the soft light from the nearly full moon. She dreamt of buttercups.

Lorelai had her curtains thrown open, her windows pushed up as far as they could go. Luke slept with his mouth slightly open, tasting honeysuckle and lavender on the night air. Lorelai was on her side, her leg hooked up over Luke's hip, the sheets tangled about their legs. Her hand rested on his forearm, and when he shifted in his sleep, twitched, she sighed and burrowed further into her pillow, closer to him. In her dreams, she could smell the flowers in Babette's garden. In her dreams, she was dancing.


End file.
